The Maid, the Fool, the Witch, and the Prince
by SoloWraith
Summary: Guinevere knows very little about the crown prince; and Merlin, almost nothing of the king's ward. Each is forced to learn about one another when Morgana's unconsidered decision involves all four in a flight from Camelot...gradual A/G & M/M.
1. Prologue

_Note: This story is set roughly in Season One (with a bit of pre-Season One backstory for a chapter or two) and is meant to be a fairly standard/canon interpretation of characters and events. Points of view are divided pretty equally between Arthur, Guinevere, Merlin, and Morgana. It's an exploration of the developing relationships between A/G and M/M. Most of the A/G stuff will be quite canon in nature, but M/M is more of my own take (since s1's Morgana is not evil, and I wanted to give her and Merlin a chance together.)_

The Maid, the Fool, the Witch, and the Prince

She remembers.

Playing with her brother in the gold-wheat fields, with the sky overhead so blue their eyes burned to stare at it. Carrying home water from the stream in buckets, they were laughing at their own clumsiness as it spilled along the way. Coming into the sweaty forge and seeing their father's repressive frown that never quite reached his eyes. "Elyan," Tom would say to the boy, but Elyan had no desire to be a bender of iron or to stand by the fire all day, and would find some excuse to run off with Guinevere, back to the fields where they would practice sword-fighting in imitation of the king's crimson-cloaked knights.

She remembers happier times and freedom.

* * *

><p>He remembers.<p>

Hunith made him promise never to forget where he came from, never to forget the gift of his powers. That his father, since hounded into hiding, was the last dragon-lord. That no matter how humble his life seems, he must remind himself of the greater purpose he has in this world. That he is destined for greatness, as much as any prince of Camelot, though it may take a long time. Though it may seem to him that it will never come.

He remembers how wonderful and terrible it was the day he realized he was different.

* * *

><p>She doesn't remember.<p>

Her mother was Vivienne, but a mystery surrounds her. Her father Gorlois, now only a legend on the lips of his best friend. She is frightened by the knowledge she does not have. Stories are carried to her on the winds, whispers of fabrications, hints of truth. Power tempts yet threatens her, she feels a power in her own mind and body that terrifies her out of a sound sleep at nights. In the day, she is pale and quiet, consumed with her thirst for understanding herself.

She doesn't remember where she came from, and she doesn't know where she is going.

* * *

><p>He doesn't remember.<p>

Queen Ygraine died bringing him into the world, a bittersweet final gift to her king. His nurses had to tell the blue-eyed blond-haired prince how beautiful and good his mother was, since he doesn't remember. He looks to the future, not to the past, and he grows up confident and sure-perhaps too sure of his place, of the love and devotion of his people. He is given a sword and trained to fight, told how he is the hope for Camelot, its joy, the jewel in the Pendragon crown. He knows nothing of hardship, nor of deprivation.

He doesn't remember a time when magic was allowed to be practised.


	2. Chapter 1

The Maid

Inarguably, things had been easier when Guinevere and Elyan's mother was still around. She had been a tiny woman with masses of dark ringlets, and features that held less sweetness and more severity after the passing of her youngest child-their baby sister, who had lived only a few weeks. They always felt guilty laughing around their mother after that.

When Tom's wife was brought to bed for the fourth time and succumbed to the fever, Gwen was in her ninth summer. Elyan was twelve, and the focus of their father's scrutiny, for he showed little enthusiasm towards pursuing the career of a blacksmith. He spoke of his desire to go further abroad than the outlying villages, further than the entire kingdom of Camelot. He spoke mainly to Gwen of such things, for in her he found a devoted listener, whereas their father would have been angry.

Gwen adored both her sensitive, talkative brother and her quiet father equally, and was aware of the growing rift between them-a rift that seemed only to widen after their mother's death. It was she who spent hours at Tom's side, learning the craft of forging rough iron into weaponry, hoping that her presence in some way made up for Elyan's absence.

A blacksmith's job involved constant repairing; people brought to Tom things that were broken and asked him to make them useful again. Gwen liked this. She appreciated the practicality of mending and re-using and couldn't really understand Elyan's distaste for the nature of the work. As they were not of the nobility, but destined for servanthood, what shame could there be in such an occupation? Rich men and poor men alike could come to her father, and he would perform his work equally well for both, accepting coin from those who had it and bartered goods from those who did not.

And though Tom might have ignored his earnest dark-eyed daughter who resembled him more than her mother, he was a good teacher to her, just as he had tried to be to his son.

Elyan left in the fall that he turned sixteen, bearing his few possessions on his back, one of Tom's swords in hand and a calm, steady face that brooked no disagreement. Gwen had wanted to cry when she watched him bid goodbye to their father, for Elyan would not sneak away, but was determined to carry things off according to his ideals. Tom had refused to acknowledge his son's announcement and continued to work steadily over a fractured ploughshare. Elyan and Gwen had exchanged wordless glances, then her brother left the forge. Gwen had sat in silence, turning the battered metal bracelet around on her wrist, a birthday gift from a few months earlier. It caught the light of the flames from the fire and glittered, as if it were gold. Neither she nor Tom mentioned the departure, though in a strange way, as with the passing of her mother, it drew them closer together. Thenceforth, Guinevere's life was measured by early morning risings in the small cottage, meals with her father and the day spent in the forge, retiring once it grew dark.

One day, after many months had passed since Elyan had left, Tom told Gwen it was time she learned different crafts, more suited to a woman's natural inclinations than blacksmithing, for which, he told her matter-of-factly, she had the aptitude but would lack the physical strength. And from then on, Gwen spent most of her daylight hours in service to a village seamstress, who had a handful of young children to be minded and an ever-growing pile of laundry collecting in the front room of her tiny shop. The seamstress was the wife of a farmer who paid Tom for Gwen's assistance in fresh food, and thus they ate well.

At first the transition was difficult for Gwen. She had been brought up not in idleness, but in relative peace and quiet, and the children underfoot gave her a daily headache until she became acclimatized to the noise. Too, learning the delicate needlework was at first problematic for her fingers. She was not easily frustrated, but more than once she found herself flinging the needle and thread down in the cloth and wishing to be back at her father's side learning metalwork. Her mistress was initially sharp-tongued and harried from the amount of work, but as Gwen became more adept at completing her sewing and rounding up the children, she grew more pleasant. Gwen and Tom still broke their fast together at dawn and again at nightfall, and two years passed in this fashion.

It was a warm summer evening when they had a conversation which was to change the course of the future once again. Tom was cleaning out the last of the stew from his bowl with a crust of bread. "Bardolf came in for a new spade yesterday," he said, setting aside the bowl.

"Oh?" Gwen murmured, unsurprised by the mention of her employer's name.

"His wife speaks well of you. Says you've become quite a capable seamstress." Tom raised an affectionate eyebrow at his daughter.

"I am glad they are satisfied," Gwen answered, rather dutifully, but she smiled back. It was nice to be appreciated for long hours bent over unforgiving cloth in an ill-lit room.

"I don't know if you recall, lass, but your mother used to work in the Abelard household. Their eldest, Leon, has recently become a knight?"

"Of course I remember Leon," Gwen murmured. Leon and Elyan had been close in age, and had often played together as children. "There is no bad news from them, is there?"

"No. On the contrary. Before your mother passed, her old mistress promised her that she would find you a good position, once you were of age and ability. That time is now come."

"But I have a good position." Gwen furrowed her brow as she stared at her father.

"With Bardolf and his family you have learned and grown, but they pay us only in food, not in wages. Guinevere, I have an offer for you to work in the king's household. The lady Morgana requires a personal maidservant." Her father's smile was broad now as he took in her reaction.

The royal household? The lady Morgana, ward to King Uther himself? Gwen had seen her, only from afar of course, standing at the balconies of the castle or at some of the public jousting events, high above the crowd. The memory came back to her; Morgana was a beautiful girl about her own age, with skin as white as fresh cream and a piercing stare. Gwen felt words rise in her throat, words of protest or demurral. "Father, how could I possibly serve there? I wouldn't know how to behave, what to say-"

"Nonsense." Now Tom frowned. "Your mother would be disappointed to hear you talk so. You've had plenty of interaction with the nobility, and you have been brought up to be a respectful, respectable girl."

Gwen bowed her head in acknowledgement of the rebuke, but her emotions still swelled. The lady Morgana. Surely she would find fault with her skills, only recently honed. Surely there would be things she was expected to know, but didn't.

"Must I live there?" she asked finally, praying the answer would be no. It was intimidating enough to consider working within Camelot's walls on a daily basis, much less sleeping under the same roof as the king, the prince, and all the other royals.

Tom shook his head. "This is your home. You'll take your meals here and keep house for me as you have always done, but now you will be making a wage." There was pride in his voice and Gwen could only hope she would be able to live up to the expectations he was clearly already building for her, though she had never yet stepped foot inside the walls of the castle.

Gwen took their bowls to the washing-up bucket, rinsed them out with a splash of water from the pitcher and began rubbing them methodically dry with a towel, the repetitive motion soothing her.

"Is it already settled, then?" she asked, after a few more moments of silence, looking at her father who still sat at the table.

"It is, though it would please me if you would formally accept, daughter. But I do not think you could find a better situation." Tom sounded confident and Gwen knew that she could not gainsay him, nor indeed anything about the offer. Working in the royal household was a coveted task and placed one in a position of trust and standing amongst the townspeople.

"The lady Morgana may still wish to personally interview you, but I think it will only be a formality, Gwen. You must start work by the beginning of next week. If you're willing."

Gwen wrung out the damp towel and placed it on a hook near the fireplace to dry. She smoothed out the front of her apron and gazed into the flames. "Of course, Father. It is an excellent position," she said, a little flatly, feeling sorry for him, for her lack of enthusiasm. She could no more imagine herself as the personal attendant to the ice-cold, queenly Morgana (for all their similitude in years) than she could conceive of being a noblewoman herself. Despite this, her natural level-headedness was beginning to assert itself. It was true, the offer was most generous, and Gwen knew she was competent enough to fulfill basic housekeeping duties and learn anything else which might be required of her. Had not Bardolf's wife, who in the beginning had scarcely a smile to toss Gwen's way, now given her high recommendation?

She finished tidying the small hut after her father had lain with a sigh on his bed and fallen to sleep, as he did easily and immediately after their evening meals. There was little enough to do and soon she too was preparing to sleep, lying down on the pallet in the adjoining room. Yet it was a long while before her mind was rested enough to allow her to drift off.

_At least,_ was one of her last thoughts, _there will be no more baby-minding. I like children...but...perhaps not so many of them_.


	3. Chapter 2

The Fool

"Merlin. Help me with this."

Gaius' stentorian tone interrupted the young man's study. He'd been perusing one of his mentor's many books on herbs and healing, though not entirely focused on the subject matter as he was recalling a spell he had been practising in the forest earlier that day. He tucked a feather between the stiff parchment pages and hurried to the physician's side, knocking over a three-legged footstool in the process. Gaius sucked air between his teeth at the clumsiness of the action. "Hold this, just so. Make certain not to spill any on yourself."

"What would happen if I did?" Merlin asked, trying not to inhale the noxious fumes coming from the mixture Gaius had been decanting.

"You don't want to know."

"Actually, I do," Merlin began, but Gaius ignored this.

"Just concentrate on paying attention, boy, and steady your hand. That mixture you spilled yesterday contained flowers from the field of Ebernar, three days' ride hence, and 'twas my last vial."

"I would be glad to fetch you some more, Gaius." Merlin spoke earnestly but his mentor gave him a rather dour glance.

"I am sure you would. And neglect your duties here into the bargain! The prince would not thank me for that."

"Surely your medicine is more important than Arthur's having spotless armour," Merlin mumbled.

"Bite your tongue, Merlin. You forget how precarious our positions here are." Gaius cast a glance over his shoulder to be sure the heavy oak door to their quarters was quite closed, then added in a lower tone, "Uther is a fine leader, but his moods vary in the extreme. Offend him once and you would be lucky to find yourself tossed out in the woods with your life. I know. I have been on the receiving end of his tempers, and I have been here considerably longer than you."

Merlin nodded as if to seem amenable, though inwardly he was rolling his eyes because he knew what was coming next...the speech about magic and how if Uther even suspected that Merlin had inclinations towards sorcery, he would be hanged or burned on a pyre in the front square. They had had this conversation before. Several times. Gaius was a wise man, there was no doubt about that, but Merlin thought him unreasonable on the matter of magic practices. How was he to develop his skills if he couldn't, even in secret, read up on spells and put his new-found knowledge to the test? After all, it wasn't as if he had any intention of marching into the throne room and shooting dragon's breath-flames out of his hand at all and sundry. It was simply a matter of—discretion.

"...have you heard a word I've said?"

He came back to himself with a mental shake. Gaius sounded genuinely irritated. Perhaps he was getting ill. The old man usually had more patience than this.

"Of course," Merlin said, giving a reassuring smile.

"You can set it _down_ now, Merlin."

"Oh...right."

"Now continue on with your reading. You haven't gotten very far in that book at all."

"Yes, Gaius." He returned to his place, righting the footstool as he went, smiling a little as the words of a spell turned round and round in his mind, just begging for a solitary moment somewhere where they could be spoken, where they could be brought to life. Perhaps tomorrow he could steal away for an hour or so...

The Witch 

Morgana Pendragon shifted from foot to foot as the cow-eyed serving girl behind her attempted to draw the laces of the crushed purple velvet corset that bound her already slim waist more tightly together. The girl was inefficient and her look of perpetual startlement irritated Morgana, who had a passionate love of beauty and an equally passionate distaste for anything disorderly or ugly. It was one of several reasons she had demanded a new help. Rarely was the King's ward gainsaid in any manner and she had been promised a capable replacement the moment one could be found. Janey, the head house-servant, who had worked there since as long as Morgana could recall, told her the new girl was to be there that day.

_She cannot come too soon! This wretched girl is squeezing me out of all proportion. Indeed I have put up with her far too long._ Morgana gave an impatient wave and gestured for the maid to bring her box of necklaces. From its well-lined contents she selected a heavy pendant whose shot-through-with-light colour was a nearly perfect match for her ocean-green eyes. Uther had brought it back for her from a recent trip to a nearby kingdom renowned for their mines and jewel stores. She forgot the name of the stone. Jadarite, or some such thing. Whatever its name, it was beautiful and Morgana knew that it looked stunning nestled in the hollow of her white throat. She turned to the window, in which she could see her image. The dress, the jewels, her hair that took hours to finish, all combined to give her a sense of confidence without which she could not leave her room.

The nightmares were growing troublesome and left her shaken, ill-prepared to face any company, even the close ones of Uther and Arthur over a familial evening meal—much less a banquet with twenty or a fifty in attendance. Gaius' preparations were doing nothing. She might as well take water. She would have to visit him again, insist he prepare something stronger. Morgana pressed the edge of her hand into her forehead, wishing she could drive away the headache. "Go," she said, without looking at the girl. "I am ready. Be gone."

The maid curtsied with a rustle of stiff petticoats and shuffled from the room. Morgana sighed out her tension, willing it from her body. It gave her some small amount of peace to stand by the window and look out over the walls and ramparts of the castle, to the lower town far below, to the mountains and valleys beyond, shrouded in the green mist of summer. There she stood for some while, until a knock on the door brought her out of herself again and she straightened.

"Milady." Janey entered, accompanied by a dark-haired young woman, in plain serving clothes, with downcast eyes. "This is the blacksmith Tom's daughter, of whom I told you."

"Of course." Morgana beckoned her to approach. The lass came recommended, she must be better, at any rate, than her predecessor. And if she turned out not to be, then Morgana would be rid of her, too. "What is your name?"

"Guinevere, my lady. Gwen," the new maid amended.

"Well, Gwen. Has Janey informed you of your duties, of my expectations of you?"

The girl curtsied. "I hope to serve you well, my lady," she murmured. She glanced up, and Morgana saw a flash of calm intelligence in the dark brown eyes before she lowered her gaze again.

"I am sure you will do nicely," Morgana replied, summoning the kindly, if calculatedly patronizing smile of an elder sister.

Gwen bobbed her head again and Morgana turned back to the window.

The Prince 

The broadsword clanged as it struck and slid off the surface of Arthur's abruptly-raised shield. His mouth twisted in a grimace of enjoyment as he pivoted and lunged, shield still aloft, in the direction of his opponent. It had been misting rain for the past hour and the grouped knights-in-training were beginning to shift and look somewhat miserable. But Arthur had no intention of halting practice just for the sake of a little damp.

He never wasted an opportunity to train his men, and he prided himself on the fact that Camelot was home to some of the finest warriors in all Albion—not in a small part due to his insistence on personally overseeing their training and teaching. The other future kings, those of Mercia and Caerleon, Ascetia and Tír-Mòr, might well occupy themselves with more scholarly pursuits, for all he knew...and as far as he was concerned, they could keep their books. Uther had ensured that Arthur spent a large part of his childhood studying with the court historian, Geoffrey of Monmouth, but Arthur's heart had never been in the dusty library. Now, entering his second decade (though he did retain a fondness for the myths and legends told him from babyhood) he was concerned mainly with the knowledge that led to practical applications of warfare, and knowledge about the current folk of Camelot.

Radnor, opposite him, looked exhausted, his face grimy and lined with weariness as they drew away from each other. He was younger than the rest and had yet to fully develop the shoulder and back muscles necessary for comfortable employment of the heavy broadswords. But he had a knight's persistent spirit, Arthur was pleased to see, and had thrown himself gamely into learning the arts of combat.

Arthur paused, still in defensive stance, waiting for Radnor to approach him again. "Do you want to stop?" he demanded, with some jocularity.

The other male muttered a quiet denial, brushing soaked hair out of his eyes, and taking a firmer grip on his sword.

"Good man." Arthur shared a glance of approval with Leon, his second-in-command who stood close by. "But that's enough for today." Lowering his shield and sword, he took the few steps to Radnor's side and gave him a companionable bump to his chainmailed shoulder. Radnor relaxed—and Arthur promptly used the next instant to disarm him and flatten him to the ground in a puddle of muddy water. Radnor looked stunned, blinking up at his prince like a confused puppy who had just been kicked. Arthur smiled grimly down at him and offered him his hand. "Don't ever let your guard down."

"Yes, my lord." Radnor scrambled to his feet, shedding water and mud, looking both guilty and relieved. "I'm sorry, my lord."

"No need to apologize," Arthur said to him, low. "Just be better next time." He turned, giving the assembled men a sweeping glance, and called out another trainee. The men thumped their shields in support of the new man up. Though the sky was darkening, and the gathering clouds promised heavier rain for the night, there was still time to get in another round of practice.

Later that evening, washed and in a fresh outfit of clothing, Arthur joined his father at the dining table. He took his breakfast and midday meals alone, but it was customary for him to take a formal meal with the king and his ward on the occasional evenings that he was not away from the castle. It gave both father and son an opportunity to catch up on the various happenings in each others' lives. Uther was often in conference with his chosen council members and was only infrequently able to ride out with the prince, since it was inadvisable for them to leave the security of the castle at the same time. Arthur enjoyed these times with his father, even if he often found himself disagreeing with some of the viewpoints his elder held.

Serving maids poured their goblets full of mead and set steaming dishes on the table.

"Where is Morgana?" Uther addressed one of the maids, but she shook her head, murmuring deferentially that she did not know.

"Shall we start without her?" Arthur was hungry, and there was a tempting smell coming from one of the covered platters.

"Go to her rooms and see what's become of her." Uther waved him away. Arthur rolled his eyes but rose.

He jogged most of the way to Morgana's quarters as it was a long distance from the dining hall, and he didn't want to waste any more time before getting his dinner. He rapped on the door and, since Morgana never answered her door immediately, sighed and leaned his head against it for a few moments.

The door opened with surprising abruptness. Arthur nearly fell into the room before regaining his equilibrium. "Ah...Oh."

He frowned at the girl who had opened the door for a moment. She wasn't Morgana's usual maid, was she? She stared back at him, too, for a moment, and then quickly curtsied. "Sire. The lady Morgana is feeling unwell this evening and did not wish to attend below."

"Is it Arthur?" Morgana called from beyond, the thick curtains surrounding the elevated bed concealing her from sight.

Arthur brushed past the handmaiden and approached the dais of his father's ward. "Come on, Morgana. Father hates it when you skip dinner, and I'm starving."

Morgana pushed the curtain aside a few inches. She was sitting up in bed, fully dressed. "I have a headache."

"Ask Gaius for something." Arthur pushed the curtain the rest of the way and sat down at the end of the bed.

"I have, I do! It never helps."

She usually had a petulant way of speaking but there was an extra edge to her voice tonight. Arthur sighed. He thought of this girl as a sister in many ways; yet she was not his sister, and perhaps it was for that reason they never had a completely comfortable relationship. There was always something hidden about Morgana, something she kept sheltered. Then again, it was possible he just didn't understand women. There were few enough of any kind about court and even fewer to whom he spoke.

"Come down just for a while." Arthur was aware of the new girl sidling into his line of view, unobtrusively, but evidently prepared to take the side of her mistress if she was called to. He glanced at her again and gave her a casual smile, sensing her tension. He didn't like for people to be afraid of him. Well, unless they were clearly enemies. Then it was a good thing.

Morgana stared at the bedspread, tightening her mouth.

"You're already dressed," he pointed out, knowing she was weakening.

"You are such a nag."

"Good. Come, and see Gaius on your way back." He smacked the top of the bed commandingly and rose to leave. Morgana's servant followed him to the door—rushing to keep pace—and saw him out, with another polite bow.

He winked at her and sauntered off down the corridor.


	4. Chapter 3

"You look lovely, my dear." Uther raised his glass in Morgana's direction, an appreciative glint to his eye.

Her hand went up instinctively to touch the necklace and she smiled, knowing it was distant, unwilling to make it any warmer.

"Thank you, my lord."

"But you are not feeling well? You've eaten hardly anything."

Morgana exchanged glances with Arthur across the table. He gave an infinitesimal shrug and applied himself to the roast chicken. "I...I had rather a late lunch," she said, returning her gaze to Uther for a moment before lowering it to her plate again. "I will take some more mead."

Uther gestured to the serving maid who hurried forward to pour more into Morgana's still half-full goblet. She raised it to her lips, but did not actually drink. Her head was spinning with pain and even though she had earlier dismissed Arthur's suggestion to visit Gaius, she meant to excuse herself as soon as possible and seek out the court physician in search of a new remedy. It was far too hot in the dining room. Gwen had selected one of her lighter dresses and didn't usually tie the lacings too tightly but even so, her garment felt confining tonight.

Before much longer Morgana had made her excuses to the king, inclined her head in Arthur's direction and pushed back her chair, as they both rose to watch her depart. "Good night," Uther called after her, and she gritted her teeth, glad to duck out of the dining room into the corridor. His company was becoming less and less endurable to her. But she was sure Gaius would not have a potion for _that._

The quarters of the king's personal physician were in a rather untidy state, Morgana noticed as she knocked and, receiving no answer, entered. Gaius himself was nowhere in attendance. There was an astonishing number of bottles and vials pulled out from the shelf and looking in dire need of organization, whilst Merlin—something of the castle dogsbody—lounged around with his feet up and his nose in a book. He dropped it and leaped up when he noticed Morgana. "My lady..."

"Where is Gaius?" Morgana's light, attentive eyes took in Merlin's perpetually mussed hair and shabby clothes. The lad always had such a lost-dog appearance to him, she thought. Although the look of slight panic at her arrival was strangely endearing. She wondered what he'd been reading. She wouldn't have thought he'd know how.

"He—he is out. For a moment." Merlin clapped his hands together and tried to assume an air of competence. "Is there something I can get for you, instead?"

"I doubt it." Morgana traced a long-nailed finger along the table top, observing it left a tiny trail of smooth dusted wood in its wake. There were still bowls from their supper and a forlorn hunk of dried bread sitting out. For a moment she nearly asked him if he got enough to eat and then changed her mind. He was of no concern to her, after all.

"I have been studying herbal lore," Merlin offered, a little uncertainly and with a hesitant smile. "I don't know as much as Gaius, of course...but..."

"I have a terrible headache." Morgana raised her eyes to his face.

He blinked. "There is...fumewort, newly made, over here, and extract of betony."

"Whichever is stronger."

Merlin eyed her for a moment and then held out the second bottle. Morgana came forwards to take it. Their hands brushed and he flinched. Now at his side, she was aware that he was considerably taller than he seemed from a distance. With a quick movement she tugged the stopper from the vial and took a lengthy swallow. Merlin looked alarmed. "Er, perhaps you shouldn't have quite so much...The betony may make you sleep too deeply."

She tipped it back again defiantly. "I have nightmares," she said, pursing her mouth against the bitter aftertaste.

"What do you dream of?"

Morgana thought that was a rather cheeky question, coming from a servant. Yet there was something about the innocent way he'd said it, like a child, cocking his head to one side and looking curious but gentle, almost as if he could...help. Which was nonsense. How could he possibly help? But something compelled her to answer. Even if the answer could only be partially revelatory.

"People I know. Getting hurt," she replied, shortly.

Merlin took the bottle from her hand, and she didn't think to pull it away. "That is...sort of normal, isn't it?"

_Not the way I dream about it. Being hurt by me._ She narrowed her eyes. _You couldn't possibly know what it is like to sense a growing power in yourself. To be consumed by it. To fear you'll consume others with it._ "Perhaps." Her eyes followed him as he put the bottle back on the shelf. She wanted to bring it back to her rooms, but it would be demeaning to beg for it. "I won't take any more this evening," she said, smiling in a way that never failed to charm visiting knights. "But let me have it, then I don't have to come back again tomorrow."

Merlin seemed embarrassed. "Gaius likes to dispense all the preparations himself. I'm not to let anything leave without his knowledge."

"Then tell him when he returns, that I have taken it." Morgana felt impatience threaten to crack her charming smile. She reached past him, deliberately angling herself to brush against his shoulder, and paused her hand on the bottle for a moment in a wordless dare for him to try to prevent her. Merlin stopped breathing, but waited. It was her victory. Morgana smiled. "Good night," she said, moving away towards the door.

"Sleep...well, my lady," he said, sounding faint.

* * *

><p>The first autumn of Guinevere's service in the royal household of Camelot was, for the most part, uneventful. She quickly learned how to have things just the way Morgana liked them, and to make herself useful to the rest of the staff as well. She was capable of doing several tasks at once without getting distracted or feeling overworked, and this soon became her most valuable asset, when someone would ask her for one thing not realizing or caring that she was in the middle of something else. She would be bringing freshly laundered clothing to Morgana's room when another of the harried housemaids would catch her and ask for help with mending or preparing a guestroom. Truthfully, Gwen found her daily workload relatively easy in comparison with her former job, where she would just as likely have to bounce a child atop one knee while hemming a skirt across the other—so she rarely refused. This endeared her to the other maids and menservants, and she enjoyed an early camaraderie with them. Her worries about not being able to fit in were soon assuaged.<p>

Morgana, too, while fitful, was easy for Gwen to handle. Quite simply, Morgana liked her rooms kept in a near-perfect state of order and cleanliness, her wardrobe attended to, and to have only gentle and quiet people in the background. In the mornings she would rise late and wished to be disturbed as little as possible, whereas in the evenings she grew almost desperately talkative and, as though she were lonely, often requested that Gwen stay until after dark. Gwen sensed a need in Morgana that was almost pathetic, and her inherent compassion kept her from irritation over Morgana's volatile temperament. She no longer saw the icy personality that Morgana displayed at Uther's side in public—rather a fragile, almost consumed demeanour revealed itself to her. Gwen frequently received queries as to what it was like serving Morgana, since among the housemaids and even within the town to some degree, the king's ward's temper was legendary.

Yet Gwen knew better than to gossip, and was loyal to her mistress, never revealing the details of what was seen in private: Morgana's red-rimmed eyes, her dishevelled hair, her flinging of the water goblet in the mornings when the curtain let in too much sun too early. Merlin, Arthur's manservant with whom Gwen had become friends, once asked Gwen if she thought Morgana was in some way ill. He had seemed genuinely concerned, though why he should have cared, Gwen couldn't imagine at the time, but she had reassured him nonetheless. No, Morgana was not ill, but there was an unease in her, an unease that grew stronger as the winter came, and they were all of necessity indoors more often.

Of the prince Gwen saw very little, and she was rather happy to have it so. Merlin regaled her with tales of what it was like to work with Arthur, and though his natural insouciance caused him, more often than not, to present it in a humorous light, Gwen couldn't help but be appalled by the stories. Arthur was a natural leader and incredible swordsman, one had only to watch him in the training field to know that, but there was definitely something...lacking in the way he viewed those who worked for him. Which was ironic, since Arthur in general could not do enough for the people of Camelot, and was indeed often head-to-head in opposition with the king, whose sanctions frequently made daily life more difficult than pleasant for the commoners. Once Gwen had demanded of Merlin if the prince cared so much about his people, why was Merlin worked from dawn till dusk with never a break? Merlin had maintained that Arthur did have a good heart, but Gwen had not yet had a chance to establish for herself whether or not he did. Her few interactions with him after their first encounter in Morgana's chamber, had consisted of passing in the castle corridors, whereupon he would acknowledge her with a roguish glance or wink, once even—after he had learned her name from somewhere—a "Good day, Guinevere." She had the feeling he could be very charming when he wanted, which was probably why, after all, the people seemed to be so enamoured of him.

And that, Gwen told herself firmly whenever she had occasion to think of Arthur, was a good thing. The people _should_ love their future prince. Of Uther she never heard negative things said. It was treason after all, punishable by death. But there was little genuine love expressed for him; almost everyone seemed to know someone who had been touched by his sanctions placed on sorcery. The name of the king was spoken everywhere with wariness; the name of the prince had been imbued with a certain amount of hope in a future that might be a freer and a happier time than the current day.

When the spring came, and with it flowers, fresh growth, and more hours spent outside, Gwen realized she was comfortable, even contented, at Camelot. It was pleasant to have a place where you felt you belonged, to be a part of something that was bigger than her father Tom's small cottage. To be sure, she still spent several nights a week at the blacksmith's, though Morgana grew more and more dependent at nights now. Tom was able to work less and still live well now that Gwen was bringing in a wage, and plenty of leftover foods from the kitchen to supplement their meals.

She thought now and again of Elyan, when she had a spare moment to herself. Wondering where he was, if he was happy, if his life was as free of constraints as he had dreamed it would be. This—the fact that they did not know for certain if Elyan was even alive, since they had never had word from him after his departure—was the only blight on her contentment.

"Merlin," she said one afternoon, as the two of them were enjoying a few lazy moments on the way back from the lower town, sitting atop a stone fence overlooking a small field—"Do you have any brothers, or sisters?"

He was braiding the onion tops from the tumbled globes in the basket Gwen had set down. "I always wanted them. But no. You?"

"I had—have—a brother, but he went away. Four years ago." Gwen redistributed her worn workdress over her knees, thinking absently it was getting awfully shabby. She would have to ask Morgana for some cloth and make herself a new one, at the very least a new apron to cover it. Tipping her head back, she looked up at the sky. The clouds were immense and many, but pure white; it was a perfect day.

"You must worry about him."

"He's never sent word to let us know he is all right."

"Why did he leave?"

She shrugged. "He was a restless soul, I suppose."

Merlin laughed in his infectious way. "Then he must have been not at all like you. You're the least restless person I know."

Gwen gave him a side glance. "Is it a bad thing to be contented with what you have?"

"No." Merlin shook his head. "It's not. Not for the rest of us. But I feel as though..." His hands ceased their movement and he gazed out over the horizon with that odd expression on his face he sometimes got, the one that always made Gwen wonder if there was much more to Merlin than he let on. He seemed such an innocent youth, but there were other times when she could see the age in his eyes, as if he were privy to the information of a thousand years of knowledge.

It was the oddest thing.

"You feel as if—" she prompted, since he had trailed off, with that lost look.

"As though you're meant for something more than the rest of us, Gwen. Something..."

"What are you talking about?" Gwen smiled at him curiously.

Merlin gave a self-conscious shrug and looked down. "You won't always be a housemaid."

"I expect nothing else," Gwen demurred. "I would rather be in service, and happy, than have a room full of clothes and jewels yet be constantly in distress." She bit her lip, not having intended to reference Morgana in such an obvious way. But Merlin didn't seem to notice.

"Perhaps we are both destined for better things," he said, but before she could pursue that comment he tossed a stone into the field and gave her a carefree grin, then hopped off the wall and scooped up the basket. "Best be getting back, I'm sure Arthur will have found something that needs cleaning by now."


	5. Chapter 4

That summer, several events conspired to keep Arthur's days busier than usual. First, there were rumours of civil unrest along Camelot's eastern border, necessitating a nearly month-long stay with a dozen of his best knights while they made their presence known to the locals, undertook regular patrols, and rounded up the bandits who seemed to be inciting most of the trouble. It turned out that food shortages had gone a long way towards causing tension amongst the townspeople and border dwellers, and once Arthur spoke with the head villagers, promising to look into the matter and send supplies from the heart of Camelot if necessary, the problem was resolved.

Then, upon the return of Arthur and his knights to the castle, it happened that a witch had been found cursing cattle in a particular field and King Uther had passed judgement and had her burned the same day, along with the members of her immediate family. The sensation of unrest only deepened after the event; some began to speculate, loudly and openly, that their lives might be in danger as well if they were going to be marked guilty by association. Conversations which had begun to occur in the taverns and pubs, over a communal jug of ale, began to take place behind closed doors. People were suspicious. It was impossible to know who to trust. It was said that the king had no compunctions whatsoever about tearing the community apart in his thirst for destroying even apparently benevolent practitioners of magic; and the people of Camelot questioned why, in other parts of Albion, sorcery could be practised and communities still managed to thrive.

Arthur was torn. He considered it his duty as prince and future king to pay attention to the undercurrent of his people's moods, and that undercurrent was telling him his father's rulings were far too draconian. But it was treason to say so, even to think so, and he had no choice but to uphold the king's judgements. Privately Arthur worried that Uther lacked any sense of reason regarding magic, dismissing out of hand as he did the possibility of harmless sorcery. He tried to discuss the matter with his father on more than one occasion, explaining that he felt that the people needed to think their king would protect them, not have them hunted through the streets on grounds of association with magic.

But Uther dismissed his concerns. "When you become king, Arthur, you will realize that you must deal absolutely in such matters," he said, his gaze cool. "If you pander to their moods they will have no respect for you."

"I don't mean to pander to their moods, Father, but do you not think—"

"There have been reports of druids in the forest of Embria over this past week. Leave tomorrow. Take with you as many knights as you need and root them out. I want them brought here. All of them. They will be stood to account." Uther gripped the arms of his throne, so still for a moment he appeared unyielding, frozen, as a carved statue.

Arthur was suddenly aware of how stifling the Pendragon red cloak felt around his shoulders, aware of the knights behind him, awaiting their orders. They had only been back at the castle for two days, after all that time spent up at the border. He clenched his jaw and kept his face expressionless, asking, "What about their women and children?" knowing what the answer would be.

"_All_ of them." Uther's eyes were shards of flint.

Arthur inclined his head, refusing to let his feelings show on his face. "I understand, sire." He backed up a few steps and then turned, striding out of the throne room, the swish of cloaks and chainmail meaning his men were right behind him, but their company was little comfort, considering the unpleasantness of the task ahead.

Back in his rooms that evening, he sat at his desk with maps spread out in front of him, not because he didn't know where tomorrow's journey would take them but because it gave him something purposeful to look at.

Merlin was in the background, straightening the cupboards and closets—or pretending to—and would likely be chatty and inquisitive in that annoying manner of his, if Arthur didn't have some official work in front of him. Even when Arthur _did_ have official work in front of him, Merlin was bound to come up and say something stupid about the weather, or about that night's meal, or something. For a manservant he could be awfully familiar. And the fact was most of the time Arthur didn't really mind. But tonight he was feeling less than indulgent.

Glowering at the maps, Arthur used the point of his knife to carve a tiny hole in every "i" contained within the elaborate quill lettering at the bottom.

Merlin passed by with an armful of shirts. "Going somewhere tomorrow, sire?"

"Looks like it, doesn't it?"

Merlin gave him a momentary affable beam before a look of uncertainty altered his features. He set the shirts down on the trunk at the end of the bed and turned. "I am not meant to come, am I?"

"I would have told you before now, wouldn't I?"

"You don't always, sire. Matter of fact you usually throw a boot at me the morning of and ask why I'm not packed yet."

Arthur decided to let that slide. "I have to go to the forest of Embria at dawn."

"The forest of Embria, where it always rains this time of year."

"More or less, yes."

"_Pours._"

"Torrentially."

"Yes." Merlin's expression was approaching dread.

"No."

"No?"

Arthur sighed and gathered up the maps into a messy scroll. "You're meant to stay."

"Oh, thank you, sire." Merlin leaned over and unrolled the maps with an air of supreme relief. "Let me do that."

"Rip anything, and you'll be copying every one of them out," Arthur warned. He rose, rotating his neck and feeling there the tension that had been sitting with him ever since the throne room. "I'm going to get some sleep. Make sure everything I need is ready by the morning."

* * *

><p>The morning came all too soon for Merlin's liking, but at last the final horse clattered away on the cobblestones and he was free to dash up the steps three at a time in hopes of being reunited with his bed, hopes that were dashed only moments after his face hit the pillow and he heard Gaius demanding, "Merlin, surely you aren't going back to <em>bed...<em>?"

"I thought I just might," he mumbled, turning his head sideways with what he hoped was an endearing expression. Gaius clearly didn't find it so because he frowned and tilted his own head. "Have you been out in the tavern all night again?"

"Noooo. But I was up late getting Arthur's supplies ready and then—look—" he waved an arm vaguely in the direction of the shuttered window—"the sun is barely up yet."

"Well, if you're not sick, there's no reason to lie in bed all morning. I have people to see in the lower town and I need you to carry my medicines. Come, there's porridge for breakfast."

"Mmm." Merlin smacked his lips with false enthusiasm. "Just, all right, just a few more moments."

Gaius tsked under his breath (which was still preferable to what Arthur would have done, grabbed the edge of his blanket and rolled him out on the floor more likely than not) and shuffled off. Merlin closed his eyes and burrowed into the burlap pillow. "Lovely," he said happily.

Later, yawning over his bowl of porridge, which was tasteless as ever, he didn't feel quite so happy. He had no desire to play pack mule following Gaius around the lower town that day. If yesterday's weather was anything to go by, it was going to be another hot day. With Arthur gone he thought he might snatch the chance to sneak off to a pond and lie by the water under the trees, staying cool for a few hours. As it turned out, he was spared at the last moment; just as he was shouldering Gaius' bag, a servant arrived at the door and announced that the physician was wanted by the king. Gaius gave Merlin a look that said they would meet later and departed.

Whistling once more, he sauntered down the hallway, though still debating the wisdom of actually leaving the castle grounds; there was no telling, after all, when Gaius would be back. The king summoning him could be a matter of one question needing answered or hours away. At least, for the moment, he was free.

He was thinking of nothing more weighty than that when he felt himself unexpectedly grabbed and hauled into a side alcove. He stared down in bewilderment at Morgana, who had two fistfuls of his shirt and looked...angry. No, exhausted.

He couldn't summon up the words to protest for a moment so just stared at her. It had been a while since he had encountered the king's ward anywhere in public and he was made uneasy by her appearance. She had a cloak up over her head (though it was a sunny summer morning) and the skin around her eyes was translucent, revealing splotchy bruises that bespoke either illness or lack of sleep.

Her eyes themselves were haunting. For a moment, as they locked gazes, he felt the oddest sensation...her pain. Her headache leaped at him like a physical creature, and he had to close his eyes for a moment, wondering if he'd imagined it, if he was just sensitive today.

"Merlin," she said, trying to smile. "I need more of that medicine. It is the only thing Gaius has let me have that helps."

He covered her hands with his own, cautiously lest she should be offended by his touch, and used his fingers to gently pry her fingers away from his shirt. "My lady. Did you ask him for it?"

She shook her head, and he felt/saw (did he see it in her eyes or feel it from her eyes, it was so unnerving) that physical creature of panic again. "Gaius will not give me more. He says it is habit-forming. How absurd! I only took it last year for a short time, do you remember?"

Merlin knew he probably ought to make an excuse and push her aside, lose himself in the labyrinthine corridors before she had a chance to hunt him down, but he found himself mesmerized. She was both pitiable and persuasive. "If Gaius doesn't want you to have the medicine, I don't think I can—"

"Merlin." Morgana leaned into him, blinking. Her eyelashes were like dusky wings around the trapped bird in her eyes. "You are my friend, aren't you? You want to help me, don't you?"

_Your friend, I should think not_, he thought, almost amused by the childish plea, how could he possibly be the friend of a creature like her? They lived on separate planes of existence, as far apart as two people could be though contained within the same walls. _Though I hope I never have occasion to be your enemy_...and yet, he did want to help her. He did. It was not in his nature to deny a cry for assistance, even though it came from such unlikely a quarter as Morgana Pendragon, king's ward.

"If I can," he said, finally.

"Then get it for me. Tonight. Please?"

_Don't promise her anything_, a voice warned him.

He decided to compromise. "I'll...try."

Morgana caught her bottom lip between her teeth and gave him a rewarding smile. "Thank you," she almost whispered. She brought her hand up again to rest on his chest for a moment, patted it, at which point they were both overwhelmed by the sudden awkwardness of being together in such close proximity. They mutually darted out, going in separate directions. At least, Merlin backed away—promptly tripping over a barrel as he did so—while Morgana rushed off in the direction of her room, not looking back.

He was thankful for that, anyway.


	6. Chapter 5

_Curses! If it weren't for that old fool Gaius, I wouldn't need to abase myself like this. How humiliating._

Morgana paced her rooms, sweeping her cloak off and throwing it on the bed as she passed. The sunlight streaming through the windows, which Gwen had left open, did nothing to brighten her mood. She had had yet another night of little rest. This time she had been tormented by visions of the villagers—most likely brought on because yesterday, as was her custom, she had been in the courtyard below, distributing food to some of the poor gathered there.

In her dreams, the people were pleading for the king's forgiveness, for his mercy, but every last one was eventually consumed by the fire. Morgana-in-the-dream was walking slowly throughout the town, seeing all the evidence of life lived there, but no life itself. Clothes hung from ropes, ploughs still stood in fields, wares yet lined the market stalls.

She had woken up sweating, _thinking this is the future of Camelot. This is the only future with Uther at the helm. Fire and death and ruination. He needs to be stopped, but by whom? I have no power—no, that is not true, I have power but I don't know how to use it. I don't know why things burn when I am upset, why things go wrong when I am tired_. _I only know that time is wasting, Uther is becoming more despicable to me by the day and innocent people are suffering. I cannot stand by. But until I have a plan...until I know what to do, or who to see, I must have restful sleep or I will be driven mad._

_Which is why, _she recalled now, pausing at the window as she so often did,_ I need Merlin..._

_Funny, for an incompetent servant there is something in his eyes that tells me he could be useful, if he were trained._

_He must come tonight with my medicine. He _will_ come. Like other men, he finds me compelling. I must not be impatient with him. I must be yielding. How it infuriates me to have to yield to men! A day will come when I will yield to no man ever again. A day will come when I spit on the Pendragon crest and all it stands for, spit in Uther's face, even._

_There is Arthur, who has not wronged me, I wish him no harm, but he would never stand with me against his father. Time will tell what becomes of him..._

She spent the rest of the day sequestered in her rooms, a task easily managed since her lunch was always brought to her. In the early evening Uther sent for her to join him for dinner, but she declined, since she had learned Arthur was absent. Gwen brought her light soup on a tray and they ate together instead.

More than a servant now, Gwen had grown into a trusted friend, whom Morgana could rely on in a way she'd never been able to with her predecessors. She was a faultless seamstress and dresser, of course, but also discreet and bright, which qualities Morgana appreciated at least as much as her sartorial skills. There was a groundedness, a calmness about the blacksmith's daughter that relaxed Morgana; so much so that she often requested that Gwen sleep nearby on a pallet in the adjoining room, rather than leave for her cottage in the town at night.

Tonight, of course, since she expected Merlin, it was necessary to ensure that Gwen would not be about. Shortly after they ate, Morgana excused Gwen from duties and bade her return home to her father, saying that she intended to retire early.

Once the handmaiden had departed, she bolted the door and changed out of her dress into one more alluring. Sleeveless, scoop-necked and made out of filmy peach-tinted silk, the garment was really a nightdress rather than something intended to be worn in public. But the whole point of having Merlin bring her the medicine (besides the obtaining of the actual drug, of course) was to make certain that he was on her side—and Morgana knew of no better way to ensure a red-blooded male was on her side than to include a little harmless temptation in her gambit.

As the moon outdoors made slow progress across the sky, she waited, occasionally assailed by the odd doubt, which then transmuted to anger, and back to uncertainty. When the candles were guttering, and there finally came a tentative tap on the heavy wooden door to her chamber, she had to remind herself not to rush to it.

Merlin shifted from foot to foot outside. He was not obviously bearing the medicine and she had to concentrate not to search him for it. The fact that he had shown up was worth something. She would not badger him...at least, not yet. She held the door open and murmured, "Come in."

Merlin looked both ways down the hallway as if afraid of being leapt upon, then ducked within. She closed the door after him and, turning back, saw immediately how nervous the closed door had made him. Too bad; she'd no intention of conducting a conversation upon which a passing kitchen-maid or soldier might eavesdrop.

She gestured for him to come more properly into the room, and after a moment he did, trying not to look at her. "I—ah—I shouldn't stay."

Morgana smiled. "It's all right, Merlin. I realize you are a servant here, but there is nothing wrong with talking to me."

"I don't think...anyone would approve," he mumbled.

"Anyone?"

"The king. Or Arthur." He gave her a quick, burning glance and looked down again.

"I care little for what the king thinks," Morgana said. It was a daring admission, but not treasonous. She was curious to see if he would react to it, if he would reveal how he felt about Camelot's head, but evidently he had some sense.

"You shouldn't say that, my lady."

"Why? It is true."

"Even more so, if it is true." Merlin gazed at her now, troubled. Then he added, his words tumbling over each other in his hurry to have them said, "You seem unhappy, and I—I have wondered if there was something I could do to help."

"But you are helping." Morgana widened her eyes in the way of an ingenue, yet despite herself, touched a little by his awkward confession. She approached him now, the silk of her dress rustling along the floor the only sound in the room, and stopped, just a shade closer than was strictly appropriate. "That is...if you did bring me the mixture of betony, as I asked?"

"I brought it," he said quietly, tapping a side pocket of his overjacket, "but I wish you would not take it, and talk to me instead."

"Talking will not bring me peace at night."

"It might," Merlin said, taking a hopeful breath. "Do you have anyone to talk to, Lady Morgana?"

Morgana stared at his shoulder which was in her line of sight, wondering if she should just wrestle him to the ground and madly snatch the vial from his pocket. She couldn't imagine he would put up much of a fight. "I talk with Gwen," she answered, a bit defensively.

She thought there was pity in his eyes once that was said and was immediately infuriated. How dare he feel sorry for her? And why? Wretched impudence coming from a servant. And yet, there it was again, something alarmingly close to wisdom emanating from him, a sense of shared...something; Morgana felt as though if she just concentrated a little harder she would know what it was. She did not have much faith in the notion of a communion of souls between two people, although if pressed she would have been willing to admit it was possible...but with someone as different from her as _Merlin_, Arthur's manservant—by the Isle of the Blessed, that was not really tenable.

"Will you give it to me?"

"If you promise not to take more than you need."

A strange promise to ask for, of course she would not take more than she needed—although he clearly did not know just how much she needed the drug. It occurred to her she could well scream at him..._What are you talking about, you addle-witted subordinate, do my bidding without question! _But it would not go very well towards nurturing his desire to make himself useful to her.

"Of course," she said lightly. "I wish only some relief from my headaches."

He studied her a moment longer, then reached into his pocket and produced the vial, wrapped up in a bit of burlap. He held it out. "I hope you find some."

Morgana focused on the offering; his gaze was too intense to bear. "You have a kind heart," she murmured.

* * *

><p>The evening fire was out and there were no candles lit.<p>

"Father?"

Frowning, Gwen moved throughout the dusk-shadowed cottage, a snake of uncertainty coiling in her stomach. Even if Tom had gone out, he would have left a fire burning, but there was not even a glow of coals from the hearth. Gwen stumbled over a fallen stool. She realized, as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, that the main room was in complete disarray. The simple curtains had been stripped from the window, trunks were overturned, kitchen pots and utensils were torn from their neat arrangements and strewn about. Someone had, systematically and thoroughly, ransacked their cottage. But where was Tom? It took her only a few moments to ascertain that he was not anywhere on the premises. She stood in the middle of the room, clutching her shawl against her shoulders, fear beginning to well up.

"Guinevere?" A croaky voice from the door startled her and she whirled to see Deirdre, an old woman who sold vegetables in the market and one of the neighbouring cottagers.

"Deirdre, have you seen Father?" Gwen strained to see her face.

"The soldiers came this morning," the woman quavered. "There was talk of magicry...they took your father in for questioning, lass."

"But—" Gwen felt her heartbeat leap. "Why—he wouldn't...They have torn everything apart!" She stood immobile, unable to think of what she should do. "They suspected him of sorcery?"

Deirdre cleared her throat loudly which provoked a coughing fit. "They suspect everyone of sorcery these days. I'll find you a candle and help you put this room to rights."

"No, Deirdre, it doesn't matter...I have to find out what's happened to Father first." Distractedly, Gwen shot a final glance around the room. She would come back tomorrow to clean up, but there was no way she could rest until she had determined where and for how long Tom was being kept, what accusations were held against him and what the "questioning" was to consist of. She didn't like the sound of that at all, not given the fact that rumours among the townspeople were that, only a few days ago, an entire band of druids had been rounded up and were now in the castle dungeons awaiting trial.

_Please let Father not have done anything stupid, let this be completely baseless..._

It was fully dark as she was hurrying back through the streets up towards the castle, and she was breathless from the exertion by the time she was re-admitted. She went to Gaius and Merlin's quarters, not wanting to disturb Morgana who had announced her intention for an early night. Just outside the door she encountered Merlin himself, swaying behind an impossibly high pile of laundry. "Gwen. What's wrong?"

Trying, and failing, to keep her voice normally pitched, Gwen explained what she knew of the situation and asked had he heard anything, what should she do? She could scarcely expect to be given access to the dungeons to check for herself.

"Arthur would know," Merlin said. "You should go to him, I am sure he'd tell you whatever he knows about your father."

"I can't possibly, it's far too late to request an audience and besides—"

"No, I mean, informally of course, knock on his door. He wouldn't refuse to talk to you."

"How can you be sure?"

"Because Arthur cares what his people think." The sentence hung in the air for a moment as if unfinished, as if he might have added _Unlike Uther._ "I'm sure he'll see you, Gwen. I've just brought him his dinner so I know he's still up. Just go."

Gwen wrung her hands, wanting to argue, though she knew Merlin was right in saying Arthur was the most likely to know what his soldiers had been up to. For that matter Arthur might even have been there, participating in the ransacking of her house.

She almost never had the occasion to be in the general vicinity of the prince's quarters, much less approach and knock on the actual, imposing door. He was no monster and she was not afraid of him, but she was afraid of what he might tell her. Or might not tell her. Moreover he might find a night-time visit from a servant to be very unwelcome and thus dismiss her out of hand, though he might otherwise in the daytime have lent her a patient ear.

Gwen clenched her fists, stared up at the ceiling and down at the ground alternately in frustration. And knocked on the door.

Silence. She knocked harder. Pounded, even. Then rubbed the edge of her fists because it hurt.

"Come," Arthur called from within, somewhat muffled. The door was rather thick.

Gwen hesitated. It didn't seem right just to—go in...when he didn't know it was her, he probably thought it was something he actually, well, _knew_.

The prince of Camelot was at his table, the meal Merlin had referenced in front of him, but it appeared he hadn't yet started. He was dressed in casual clothing, did have a goblet in his hand, and he looked at Gwen in mild wonderment for a moment. She curtsied.

"Guinevere," he said, giving the slightest of encouraging smiles.

Gwen knew she had to speak and get it over with as quickly as possible, get the information she needed without embarrassing herself with tears or any nonsense (not that she was prone to such things, because she wasn't). But in the past hour the worry over her father's safety had become debilitating and she feared it would be her undoing until she knew what was going on.

"My lord. I apologize for intruding on you at this time of night—" Arthur waved away this initial formality with apparent good humour "—but I have been informed that my father has been...detained under some sort of suspicion of sorcery. Since I haven't spoken to him myself I can't be sure whether or not there is any truth to the..accusation—"

He stood up as she spoke, and Gwen faltered to a halt as he put out a hand now, a resigned expression on his face.

"Yes. Your father is Tom the blacksmith? He has indeed been brought in. He's being kept below until his trial determines the nature and extent of his recent involvement with one Tauren, a known sorcerer."

"He is...unharmed?" Gwen felt a pressure in her throat and she tried to speak clearly.

Arthur met her eyes levelly and without dissembling, which she appreciated. "He may have suffered some inconveniences, but I can assure you he's not been purposely injured. Nor will he be."

_At least for now._ "Since you have been kind enough to answer my questions, my lord, may I ask you one more? Was it really necessary for your guards—or can it have been your knights, because I should think it would be quite beneath them—to destroy the only lodgings of two simple, loyal subjects of the King?"

Arthur took a long breath and there was silence in the room for a few moments. Gwen held her own breath, wondering if she had just gone too far, if the iciness in her tone had bordered on insolence. (Perhaps it had even marched completely into the territory of insolence, without looking back.)

"Guinevere," he said again. "I didn't supervise today's...visit, had I, rest assured I would not have authorized any destruction of personal property. The men were in fact operating under my father's orders which—I'm sure you understand—cannot be questioned."

She inclined her head, for the moment wordless.

Arthur came around the table and she backed away, out of instinct. He looked instantly chagrined. For a moment, Gwen thought she might actually flee the room, that it had been mad to come here; how could she have expected him to react positively to criticism of the king's decisions? But her feet were rooted now.

"Morgana speaks well of you," Arthur said after another minute passed. "She says you are more than a handmaid, you are a trusted friend. And for that, I thank you. Morgana's like a sister to me. She's had difficulty living here, and your assistance means a great deal."

Gwen looked down, biting her lip. She wondered if he realized how patronizing he sounded, even though she felt, in her heart, that he genuinely meant the words. After a moment, she bobbed her head in acknowledgement.

"I'm sorry for the damage that was done during your father's apprehension," Arthur added. His blue eyes were serious. "If you wish, I can have reparation made."

"No—please." Gwen was embarrassed now. As long as Tom was unharmed, that was all that truly mattered.

"Well, for whatever it's worth, Guinevere, I intend to make sure all evidence is examined so his trial is concluded as fairly as possible. Beyond that, I can't promise you anything."

"I...understand. Thank you. It is late and I will take my leave." Gwen ran a quick, distracted hand through her hair, dipped her head again and backed away.

"Good night," he called after her, but she had fled, closing the door behind her as she went.


	7. Chapter 6

The trial of Tom the blacksmith, held the following afternoon, did not go well.

There were a few facts, several witnesses with stories that did not entirely align, and Uther's opinion, which mattered most of all; the conclusion being that Tom had engaged in treasonous behaviour when he assisted the sorcerer Tauren in meddling with alchemy.

Arthur tried to argue on behalf of the man, saying that, while Tom had certainly been implicated, it could not be proven that he had intentionally committed treason and thus he was not deserving of the ultimate punishment.

Uther didn't agree, however, and Tom was scheduled to be executed at dawn the next day.

Morgana caught up with Arthur as they were leaving the main hall, grabbing him by the shoulder. He turned with a sigh; her fury was almost palpable.

"He is mad," she said passionately. Though there were people all around, she had made no attempt to lower her voice. "Arthur, you must stop this. He cannot have Gwen's father killed!"

"You know that he can, and I don't doubt he will." Arthur glared at her in reproof. "Believe me," he said, hustling her to the side as he strode down the corridor, "I don't like this decision, but I can't countermand it."

"How many more people have to die according to his whim? How many more innocents?"

"The blacksmith has been determined guilty. To argue that he's not is treasonous in itself. Morgana—be reasonable. There is nothing we can do."

"Nothing _you_ can do, perhaps, although I didn't think you were such a coward!"

He stopped. The accusation stung. He decided to ignore it. "What do you have in mind?"

"You'll discover in time." Morgana's eyes were beautiful but rather dreadful. "Rest assured, I will not stay here to watch all my friends put to the sword merely because Uther is frightened of magic!" She spat the words out, emphasizing the king's name as if it disgusted her.

"Morgana, I suggest you return to your rooms and rest. Be a comfort to your maidservant, if you can." Arthur spoke sternly but he felt uneasy. Morgana's discontent with Uther had been a long time in the making. If this newest incident proved to be a permanent split between the two, he wasn't sure what, if any, future Morgana would have at Camelot.

"Oh, I am sure she will take the news that her father is going to be killed in cold blood, upon the orders of a _tyrant_, very well indeed." Morgana whirled, her cloak billowing about her, and left him standing there in the hallway.

He tried not to think about it, but Morgana's parting words remained in his head. Particularly recalling how Guinevere had approached him the prior night. He had been charmed by the girl's simplicity of purpose, by the fact that she hadn't tried to manipulate him with tears and wiles, but yet had shown a backbone of startling strength when she'd commented on the state of her cottage. Even after he had retired to bed he had thought about her. Thought how few women of any intellectual or emotional substance he had encountered at court. Interesting that this one, not even a noblewoman, should catch his eye in that respect.

Then again, strength of character certainly wasn't tied to one's status, Arthur reflected now. He had often thought that, in his Camelot, when the time came for it, perhaps it should be possible for a determined farmer to compete on equal footing with, and best, if he could, a lazy knight. It was a notion his father would have scoffed at. But then, Arthur had no intention of being the same kind of king as Uther.

And yet...while Camelot remained under Uther Pendragon's rule, Arthur was not only his son, but his most loyal subject. Nothing could change that. Nothing _should_ change that.

The rest of the afternoon, and evening, was uncomfortable. Merlin carried out his duties in the background as normal, but without any of his typical cheer or chatter. Silently and somberly he brought the evening meal and fresh water for washing, tidied and cleaned the room and replaced Arthur's wardrobe. Arthur escaped for an hour on the pretext of getting in some training with his men, but he couldn't concentrate and the knights sensed his lack of focus. He couldn't help feeling that Guinevere, in a final desperate effort to save her father, might visit him again and he knew he wouldn't know what to say to her; all the more so if she was not angry like Morgana had been but rather quietly pleaded for an intervention—one that he'd already attempted, and failed.

He returned early to his rooms and sat, with papers spread out in front of him, wanting something to do but unable to look at them. He would not have admitted such to Morgana, but he did believe that Tom was innocent of any malicious attempt to collude with Uther's enemies and it bothered him that the man was about to receive the ultimate punishment.

No one visited him, and the night passed in eerie silence, with the exception of a few hours just before dawn, when Arthur was woken by the sound of the ill-fortune birds crowing outside his windows. Then he laid in bed until grey light crept into the room, signalling the arrival of a day he did not particularly wish to arrive.

* * *

><p>"Are you awake?"<p>

Gaius had his head around the corner of Merlin's door.

Merlin stared up at the ceiling, wishing he was not. "Yes."

"Come have something to eat."

He doubted he could. He felt nauseated. Gwen's unhappiness sat with him as if it were his. They had had only a few moments to talk together last night, after the trial verdict in the afternoon. And there hadn't been words, really, for any of it.

How did you say you were sorry to someone about to become an orphan?

Merlin swung his legs out of bed and pulled on his boots. The familiar scent of slightly burned porridge hit his nostrils and he swallowed the urge to gag.

At the table, Gaius was looking sympathetic. "I know it can't be easy, Merlin, with Guinevere your good friend."

Merlin grimaced and sat down on a stool, propping his head up with both hands. There was some kind of tension in his mind—as if he were literally feeling someone else's pain. Gwen's? But with a different taste to it, an angry bitter taste. He didn't understand.

"Gaius—" he said haltingly. "Does having magic mean that I can feel things?"

"How do you mean that exactly?" Gaius slopped some porridge into his bowl and pushed it across the table to him.

"It's hard to explain. It's—as though I have a headache, but it's not my headache to have."

"I suppose so," Gaius considered. "You are not a traditional empath, Merlin, but all those with magic can, to certain degrees, sense the feelings of others around them." He took a spoonful of the gruel and tasted it thoughtfully. "Please give Gwen my sympathies, if you see her before I do."

"Of course," Merlin said, almost under his breath.

Outside, in the corridor, while he was running in the direction of Morgana's rooms to find Gwen—dawn had already broken—he was caught by the collar as he rounded the final corner.

Arthur, grim-faced, swung him around. "Merlin. Lady Morgana is gone."

"Gone?" Merlin repeated stupidly.

"As in, not here. I've checked her rooms, but there's no evidence to say where she is. Her handmaiden must have been the last one to see her. You'd better go to Guinevere's house—" Arthur paused. "No. She wouldn't have gone back there last night, the place was ransacked. She must have left with Morgana."

"Or she left first and the lady Morgana followed her," Merlin suggested, still a bit dizzy from the revelation. Would this mean the execution was delayed? Probably not; the king wouldn't much care who was in attendance as long as the punishment was carried out.

"Whichever; we're going after them. Ready our horses and supplies. I want to leave as soon as I've informed the king." Arthur, rather belatedly, released him and strode away.

Before much later Merlin had the horses saddled and waiting in the courtyard. It was always a challenge to pack in a hurry for a journey of indeterminate length, but he had cheated and employed magic to speed up the process, Uther be damned.

Sun was breaking over the horizon as the two of them rode at a quick gallop past the gates of Camelot and through the town. Merlin could only wonder how Arthur intended to find the girls. Arthur was a decent tracker, but they had no idea how long it had been since their departure, or how carefully they meant to cover their trail. Had it been a quick decision, made without forethought? Merlin tried to recall exactly how his conversation with Gwen had gone. She had been upset, of course, and had not said much. Mostly they had just sat together, drawing strength from the other's presence.

Arthur kept them at a swift pace on the way out, though he was a good enough horseman not to exhaust the animals too early on. Merlin stopped worrying about where they were going and settled into the rhythm of riding, which was almost always soporific for him; before very long there was no world but the flashing-by of leaves and branches with their multiple shades of greenery, and the occasional bit of distracting chunk of dirt flung up in his face from the hooves of Arthur's mount.

Arthur didn't rein in around mid-morning, as they were crossing through a cool valley, and swung off the horse effortlessly. Merlin slid off his and nearly fell to the ground, groaning at the ache in his muscles.

Arthur gave him a black look. "Water them. We can't stop long."

"Do you know where we're going?"

"Only a fool would ride out with no idea of where to look," Arthur retorted.

_Which doesn't answer my question. Prat_. He clambered to his feet and tried to smile, whilst rubbing the back of his stiff neck. "Sooooo...?"

"Father thinks Morgana might be trying to find her father Gorlois' people." Thoughtfully Arthur ran a hand along the length of his sweating horse's neck. "So once we get further north, we'll take the road to Tintagel if we haven't caught up with them by then. Morgana's a good rider, but I can catch her. I don't know about Guinevere." Frowning, he glanced at Merlin. "You didn't happen to talk to her yesterday, did you?"

Merlin nodded as he brought the animals down to the stream to drink. "Er, a little."

"And...?"

"She was upset, of course." Merlin met his master's gaze now, as evenly as he could manage.

"Of course," Arthur echoed. "But did she say anything of note?"

"I didn't get the feeling she was planning to leave, if that's what you mean, sire. She seemed quite defeated." Merlin hesitated, wondering if, by way of contrast, he should mention his interactions with Morgana, and the fact that she'd been troubled to the point where she required calmatives. The fact that being around her had made him feel..different. Like if she would just let him, trust him, he could understand something about her.

Arthur would probably scoff at that and say he was touched in the head. And then warn him to stay away from Morgana in future because there was no reason for him to feel _anything, _good or bad, around the king's ward.

"If you know something, Merlin, it is your duty to inform me. You know that, do you not?"

"It's just—" Merlin ducked reflexively as his mare raised a shaggy head from the stream and shook it, splattering him with warm droplets. "It's...Morgana has made me think that she was unhappy at Camelot."

Arthur's forehead wrinkled. "When did you have the opportunity to talk with _her_?"

_Oh, now I've done it, just as I knew._ "I delivered some medicines from Gaius a few times," he defended. "No more than that. She said she was having difficulty sleeping and she...seemed to be in some sort of pain."

"What kind of pain?"

"Well, headaches, but it was more than that. I think," Merlin qualified. "Some kind of mental pain, I guess."

"_Mental_ pain, Merlin, really, the only one with mental pain around here is you," Arthur scoffed.

"You did ask me."

"Yes." Arthur could, and did, shift from annoying prat to serious king-in-the-making in the matter of a heartbeat. "And I will take it into consideration. Now let's move on, there's plenty of ground to cover."

* * *

><p>Dusk was far more pleasant experienced from the comfort of one's rooms, with a roaring fire in the hearth, Morgana reflected. Not so enjoyable atop a horse plodding along through the forest.<p>

But she wasn't regretting her decision to leave Camelot for a moment. On the contrary, she was finding herself wondering why it hadn't happened sooner. Her head felt clearer, her senses sharper. She was not a regular rider but even her muscles did not feel unaccustomed to the saddle, at least not as they might have been, considering they had ridden more than an entire day with only a few short breaks as the horses needed to.

Morgana couldn't tell if Gwen was feeling differently about having accompanied her. Gwen was not one to complain under any circumstance. The horses had slowed, weary after the long travel and varied terrain going north. Gwen had her hood up, her face shadowed in the darkening light and Morgana twisted in her saddle to call back to her.

"I see village lights up ahead? Shall we look for an inn to take shelter?"

Gwen tapped the reins and caught up. "Are you sure we should? Perhaps we ought just to sleep in the woods."

"I _am_ an accomplished swordswoman, you know. And I can hardly imagine you would be useless in a scuffle, should we find ourselves in one." Morgana smiled a touch mockingly. She was proud of her prowess, actually, and felt combative enough to welcome a conflict. Should some knave wish to accost them in the inn while they supped, he would find himself missing an arm.

"Oh, I know, my lady. I only thought that we might attract notice."

Yet they had not dressed finely; both were attired in trousers and common clothing with their cloaks overtop, the kind any journeywomen might wear, nothing to identify them of being from the house of Pendragon. True, Morgana's own cloak was of excellent material and rich colour, but it did not instantly mark her out for notice, unless one were to look very closely.

"Do not call me that, Gwen. I think, in public, you should call me by my mother's name, Vivienne. Anyway, we won't stop if you would rather not."

"I am very tired," Gwen admitted. Having fled Camelot at midnight, neither of them had gotten any sleep.

That settled it. Morgana felt an almost maternal concern for her maidservant, now her friend, since the news of the appalling verdict settled upon Tom the blacksmith. _How many lives does Uther have to ruin with his need to cleanse the world of magic practice?_

Once within the village, they found a bustling inn where Morgana paid a stable-boy directly to ensure care of their horses, then went within. More coins had to exchange hands before they were given a room, but it was done discreetly and without too much attention.

Gwen collapsed on the narrow pallet as soon as they were in and the door safely bolted.

"Are you all right?" Morgana slipped off her dusty cloak and came over to sit down beside her.

Gwen nodded, pillowing her head in her hands, and squeezing her eyes shut. "I didn't even have a chance to say goodbye to him."

"I know." Morgana bit her lip. "Was I wrong to suggest you come with me? Should you have stayed?'

Gwen shook her head. "There is nothing for me there, now. I don't think I will ever go back."

"Nor will I."

"I don't expect that of you, m—Morgana. Vivienne." Gwen smiled though her eyes were translucent with tears. "You might still change your mind about...about Camelot."

Morgana shook her head. "Just as I said to you last night, not as long as that monster is on the throne."

Gwen sighed into the rough straw pillow. Already her lids were heavy with weariness. Morgana patted her shoulder, realizing they both needed to sleep more than they needed to talk, at this point. "I'll make a fire," she said, rising and going to the tiny hearth. She meant to let Gwen have the bed, poor girl. By the time she had a small blaze going, Gwen was already asleep.

Morgana wrapped herself in her cloak, settled down on the floor and prepared to do the same.


	8. Chapter 7

"Right then, Merlin, which way?" Arthur reined in and looked expectantly at his servant, who was, once again, nodding off.

"Which way?" Merlin blinked, owlishly, at him.

"North or northwest?"

"I thought you knew where we were going."

Arthur gestured at the two paths—a narrow, twisting one, shot with late morning sunlight dappling through the overarching trees, and a broader, clearer version with wagon-wheel ruts. "I don't actually _know_ where they are. I thought I'd leave it up to your intuition. Since, shockingly, it sometimes seems to be accurate."

Probably it was foolish to put the decision in Merlin's hands, though he could always blame him if it turned out to be the wrong one. The fact of the matter was, he had no idea if north to Tintagel was even the way to go. For all he really _knew_, Morgana and Guinevere could be behind them by now. Or riding around in circles in hopes of perpetual evasion.

He hoped Morgana had a plan, if only for the fact that it might keep the girls safer. Then again, remembering her face when she'd cornered him after the trial he almost hoped she _didn't_ have a plan.

"Intuition," Merlin said in a vague manner.

"You do know what that means, don't you?" Arthur gibed.

"Aha. Ha. No, but I'll check Gaius' dictionary when we get back." Merlin stared at both of the routes for a few moments.

"So which is it?" Arthur eyed him. Merlin had an odd talent for looking dim-witted and wise at the same time. He hoped his choice would prove to reflect the latter instead of the former characteristic.

Merlin twisted the reins between his fingers, his face warning in advance he was about to change the subject. Or possibly just say something stupid. "Sire?"

"What?"

"Did Gwen's father...?"

Arthur bent to take up the flask of drinking water attached to the saddlebags. After he drank he said—"I asked the king to postpone the execution until we returned. He denied my request."

"Oh." Merlin's voice was hollow. Arthur stared past the ears of his horse down the length of the bridlepath.

"That way," Merlin said, after another minute of silence. He drove the mare past Arthur, heading down the sunlit path.

"Why this way?" Arthur demanded, suddenly uneasy.

"Something tells me it's right."

"_Something_?"

"I believe the word was...intuition," Merlin called over his shoulder.

_Right_. He slapped the reins against the horse's neck and moved out.

By late afternoon they had entered a nondescript village of some size. Arthur stopped along the way to inquire if anyone had seen two women come through these parts. He didn't expect they would be that fortunate, but decided to follow up on someone's suggestion that they check the town's two inns. The first was not rewarding, answered by a weary innkeep's wife who said she had not seen anyone new in a week, but at the second Arthur thought they might be on to something. The owner was a burly fellow who wiped stained hands on his apron-covered, ale-fed belly and demanded in a thick, truculent accent: "'Oo wants to know?"

They were standing just outside the entrance; the man had come out to dump a bucket of potato peelings for the goat, who was languidly chewing away at the offerings.

"Have you seen them or not?" Arthur demanded.

"Wot'd you say you were looking for then?"

Arthur held up two fingers, willing his patience level to maintain itself. "Two. Women. Dark-haired. Not from around here."

"What it's worth to ya?"

Arthur rolled his eyes at the man's lack of subtlety. "Merlin—" he jerked his head.

Merlin produced a small sack of coins from his shoulderbag and extended it in the innkeeper's direction. It was quickly disposed of in one of the apron pockets. "Well then," the man said, affecting a jocular tone. "Them two lasses stayed last night. Fine horses, they had."

"What colours?" Arthur wondered if the man thought he was a complete fool. He didn't know which horse Guinevere would have taken, but Morgana would be riding her own personal steed, a fleet gelding the colour of clouds.

"White and a bay."

He relaxed a little; it was enough of a confirmation. "Anyone see them leave this morning?"

"Warn't about when they left, but the boy might've, you can talk to him." Satisfied with the heft of the coins in his pocket, the innkeeper tapped out the remaining contents of his bucket on to the ground and went back into the tavern.

A brief consultation with the sleeping stable-boy, whom Arthur unceremoniously awoke with a booted foot to the shoulder, led to the knowledge that Morgana and Guinevere had had a late start and were headed further northwest out of the village.

It was immensely heartening for Arthur to know that, not only had his father's idea about where to look proven true, they would soon be able to overtake the girls. He had been close to second guessing the wisdom of heading out on such a journey with no solid trail to follow, Merlin's intuitions aside. The night spent in the woods had not been restful; he had lain awake and stared up at the stars long after he heard Merlin first begin to snore, and there was plenty of time, particularly in the earliest hours of the morning, for his natural optimism to sour. Now he felt it returned.

* * *

><p>At midday, they stopped for a quick lunch, consisting of rather dry bread which, of necessity, they washed down with copious amounts of stale water. "Is this all you brought?" Arthur said, making a face as he tried to chew the final hunk Merlin offered him. They were crouched by a grouping of stones not far off the road, scattered through with wildflowers.<p>

"I didn't have time to prepare and pack a feast, sire," Merlin said severely. "If you recall, you were in a hurry. I barely got this away from the cook as it was."

"You should have let her have it back," Arthur grumbled. "There's nothing else?"

Merlin peered hopefully into the food bag and came up with a rather bruised apple.

"I suppose we can get something hot in the next town we come through," Arthur said, disregarding the apple, so Merlin bit into it. "Only I don't want to stop that long."

"How far ahead do you think we have to go?"

The prince shrugged. "They could be near, could be a way off yet."

"My lord?"

"_Yes,_ Merlin."

"When we find them, what are we going to do?"

"I don't know what you mean." Arthur closed his eyes against the sunlight and leaned back against the stones.

"I mean they left, they don't want to..." Merlin trailed off as Arthur opened his eyes with a foreboding look in them, "...come...back."

"Nonsense. They belong at Camelot. They will return with us."

_Well, maybe he could convince Gwen, despite what happened to Tom. He is, after all, her future king. But Morgana...the Morgana I saw, is not going to listen. She is done with it all. _Merlin stared, troubled, at the wildflowers dipping and twisting in the wind, the stems looking impossibly slender to bear up their prolific heads.

"Anything else?" Arthur murmured, having closed his eyes again.

"No, sire."

"Then find water for the horses, and replenish ours as well."

Merlin scrambled up. He didn't mind the summary dismissal; his legs were glad of the exercise. From the road he'd spotted a pond down the hillside, away from Arthur and the rocks, and he meant to let the horses drink there if the water seemed clean enough. He led the tired animals carefully down the stone-speckled hillside, stumbling more than once, as the grasses were long and chest-high in places. The pond, luckily, was clear upon closer inspection. First he knelt to refill the waterbags, then let the horses put their heads down and drink at the edge.

A sword's edge touched his neck and slid along a few inches. He went still, kneeling, though his heart pounded. But he knew who it was before he could even turn around to see because he _felt_ her. Just like before. Felt that internal pain of the mind.

"What are you doing here?" Morgana demanded, in a voice both silky and icy.

"W-watering the horses," he said, truthfully.

"Fool." She said it calmly though, more like an observation than an insult.

"Do you mind—?" He tilted his head a fraction away from the sword.

"I do mind, very much. I mind that you and your prince are here. Chasing us."

"If you don't let me stand up, I'm going to fall over," Merlin said, deciding the truth, embarrassing though it was, must be spoken. Bent like this, after all the riding, his legs felt made out of butter.

"Fall if you will." But she withdrew the sword a little. He rose, a bit shakily, to his feet and turned to her. Morgana looked up at him with those dark eyes, but with more anger and less suffering in them now, it seemed.

"Where is Gwen?" He looked around, hoping he could stall her long enough from whatever plan she had, keep her talking, until Arthur realized he had been gone too long and came after him.

"We've been watching you from the ridge. I dreamt last night about you following us. Gwen is still there with the horses."

He saw, in the distance, a long hill that tapered off into a cliff. "Is..she all right?"

"If her father is dead, then no, Gwen is not all right." Morgana bit the words off.

Merlin tried to summon presence of mind, to think clearly and capably. It was difficult when your knees were unsteady and felt like they wouldn't hold you up. "I'm sorry," he said.

"Much good your sympathy does."

"I know."

"Stop talking!"

"What do you want me to do?"

"Move." Morgana's sword was still extended in his direction and her arm didn't seem shaky at all.

Even so, he decided to see how serious she was. "I'm not going anywhere with you."

Morgana narrowed her eyes. "Don't test me, boy."

"You're not my mistress," Merlin said. He would never have said such a thing to her back in the castle, but miles away, out here under the sun that shone mildly on them both, it seemed nothing more than truth.

But Morgana gaped. "If I were Arthur I'd have you clapped in the stocks!"

He gave an infinitesimal shrug.

"Move before I run you through, useless worm!"

"If I were useless, you could run me through and it wouldn't matter," he pointed out.

Morgana hissed through her teeth.

"I don't think it's me you even want in this position," Merlin continued.

The swordpoint was still a mere couple of inches from his throat, but she waited.

"It's the king you want to humiliate, isn't it? But why, Morgana? What has he done to you, personally, to make you hate him this much?"

"I don't expect you to understand!"

"I think you underestimate me."

Morgana gave an inelegant snort. "I doubt that."

Merlin saw Arthur's head, just barely, moving behind her, as he approached them, making his way through the tall grasses. His stomach twisted in relief. He had not wanted to use magic to keep Morgana at bay, and now, he hoped, he wouldn't have to. Morgana followed his eyes—he wasn't quite quick enough to switch his attention back to her—and lurched forwards to grab him, to press the sword against his neck, but he leaped sideways, avoiding her grasp.

"Leave him alone, Morgana." Arthur stepped out of the grasses and onto the sandy pond shore, his sword held out in front of him. "He's done nothing to you, and he's unarmed."

_Well, I have a knife in my boot, and I could take her out with a fire blast at any point, but then you would be duty bound to bring me back to Camelot and report to Uther who would then have me thrown in the dungeon and subsequently killed for being a magic user, so yes...let's go with unarmed...it sounds better._ Merlin shifted further along the shoreline, away from both of them.

Morgana swept her sword in his direction and then back at Arthur.

"What do you want, Pendragon?" she spat at last.

"First," Arthur said, "I want Merlin over here by me, out of trouble. Then, I want you to agree to return with us to Camelot." Merlin had to appreciate the way he said it, which was somehow firm and confident without sounding completely prattish.

"Camelot be damned." Morgana shook dark hair out of her face and tilted her chin up.

"And Merlin?" Arthur said, after a moment.

Morgana looked back at Merlin. "You're right," she said. "It's not you I want. You can have him."

Arthur gestured with his head and Merlin took the opportunity to dart in an evasive pattern (startling the horses, who shied away) around to his side. He felt rather sheepish. It was a bit humiliating. But he couldn't prove himself, not yet. It wasn't time.

"And finally," Arthur said, "I want to talk to Guinevere."

"She's up on the ridge, beyond," Merlin murmured. Morgana's eyes flashed in anger that he'd revealed the information, but Arthur gave a grunt of approval.

"She is no more likely to return with you than I am! Or do you mean to coerce her? Order her? Tie her up like a slave and march her back?" Morgana mocked.

Muscles in Arthur's jaw tensed. "I've no wish to fight a girl, Morgana, but I'll fight you if you mean to keep me from talking to her."

"Think about this," Morgana said. "Your father killed her father. Not two days ago! Do you think she is even going to want to see your face?"

Merlin thought this was harsh, but Arthur remained expressionless. "Possibly not. But I will talk to her just the same. She left like a thief in the night and she _is_ one of my subjects. I'm responsible for her."

"Ridiculous," Morgana said.

Arthur took a step backwards, angling his sword in a defensive position, and said, "Merlin, get the horses."

The animals in question had wandered away down the length of the pond shore. Merlin jogged off to round them up. When he returned with them, Arthur nodded to the hillside behind him. "Take them back up to the road."

He hesitated, not because he thought Arthur was incapable of dealing with Morgana on his own but because he didn't want to miss anything.

"Go on!" Arthur said sharply, not taking his eyes away from his father's ward.

Merlin obeyed with reluctance. Taking a length of rein in each hand he began to lead the horses through the grasses up the hill. Before he was halfway up he heard the clang of swords meeting. He hesitated. Instinct told him to go back down and stop them, by whatever means necessary. Someone could get hurt. Someone _would_ get hurt, it was what tended to happen when an angry person was wielding a dangerous weapon, at least in his (admittedly limited) experience with such things.

But he couldn't. A magic reveal now would alienate both Morgana and Arthur to him, for different reasons. Arthur had given him a command and he had no choice but to carry it out. He brought the horses to the spot where they had lunched. He couldn't see either of the two combatants below, but could still hear the sounds of the skirmish.

And then, after a little longer, an ominous silence.

He stayed with the horses and tried not to panic.

_Breathe. No one is dead. Morgana is not angry enough to kill Arthur, or good enough, for that matter...is she? And Arthur bears her no ill-will; he's only defending himself. Isn't he?_

Doubt was a terrible thing.

Right about when he thought he could bear the waiting no longer he heard Arthur call. "Merlin! Give me a hand."

He rushed down through the grasses. Arthur was labouring halfway up the hill, carrying Morgana against his chest. Her right arm dangled limply from her body. And there was blood. On her arm, on her side, some on Arthur.

"What have you done!" He planted himself in the way and stabbed two fingers against Morgana's white neck.

"She's not dead, you imbecile, and it looks worse than it is." Arthur pushed past him just as he was starting to feel the pulse of her blood. Back up on level ground he eased Morgana down with a rush of breath. Merlin caught her head before it could hit, pillowing it on his knees. Her eyes were flickering but unnervingly, she made no sounds.

Arthur, practically, tore a strip of cloth from the bottom of Morgana's tunic and began quickly binding it round her forearm, where Merlin could now see the gash, almost a hands-width long, from which the blood was seeping.

"She's going to be fine. Stop looking at me like that. I didn't mean to do it. She wouldn't let me leave."

Morgana's head lolled against Merlin's elbow. Alarmed, he stroked the side of her face.

Arthur looked up. "She's not a puppy, Merlin, honestly. Make her talk if you want to be useful." He got to his feet. "That'll do till we can find Guinevere, I suppose. Let's go. Help me get her up on my horse."

_I can heal her. If I can be alone with her to do it_. Merlin knew he was going to have to make that happen. He just hoped he would get the chance sooner rather than later.

They managed to get both Morgana—still limp and distressingly uncommunicative, but no longer bleeding—and Arthur up on the horse, which was well-trained and barely shifted in protest at the extra weight. Merlin leaped up on his own mount, and used his heels to spur the animal forwards.

"The ridge," Arthur called. "You go first."


	9. Chapter 8

In the middle of a leafy wooded area on top of the ridge, Gwen was nurturing a small fire. Sunlight was drifting quickly through the trees now and it seemed hours since Morgana had gone, on foot, down to wait for Arthur and Merlin, whom she believed were following closely behind them.

Normally, Gwen didn't mind being alone, but the current solitude was beginning to bother her. It was too difficult to remain practical, too easy to slip back into her head filled with memories, with sadness, with desperate concerns for the future. She had spent the afternoon preparing their dinner—a rather watery broth made from a piece of dried and boiled meat. She had scrounged some mushrooms and rubbed them clean, and picked some edible greens to put into the small pot. Now she crouched by the fire and used a clean stick to stir the contents.

The horses were loosely tethered where they could graze on the greenery, and their occasional whuffles and snorts were a mild comfort while she waited.

_Where will I go now? Morgana said I am welcome wherever she goes, but who knows if her people will take me on, even as a servant. And I must find work again, I cannot depend on her goodness. I have to find a new place, where I can try to forget life at Camelot, life before Camelot._

She rubbed at an itch on her cheek with the back of her hand and forbade the tears to well up again. She had not broken down since last night but it seemed tears were always near the surface now. _It will not be this way forever. I will remember Father, as I remember Mother, but I will have to be at peace with their passing. And yet, if only Elyan had not gone, I would not feel so...alone in this world._

The self-pitying thought was shaken out of her head by the sound of hoofbeats. Gwen rose and whirled, looking for the source, feeling for her dagger strapped to her thigh—it was really a small sword, and she felt competent to defend herself with it, but not if there were more than one—

She recognized Merlin as the first rider almost right away, and felt her heart slow in relief, but then as the blond head of Prince Arthur came bobbing into view, with a slumped Morgana held in front of him, she felt panic once again. And a blossom of anger.

"Merlin. What's happened?" Gwen ran up to and caught the horse by the halter as they came nearer the fire.

"Morgana is hurt," Merlin said, glancing back at a tight-lipped Arthur, "but it is not too serious." He dismounted and went to help Morgana down. Gwen raced to get a cloak for them to put her on, near the fire, and knelt at her side.

"How did this happen?"

Silence from the two men, and they looked equally guilty. Gwen closed her mouth against more scathing words that wanted to spill out, and took Morgana's left hand and pressed it in her own. "Her hands are icy," she accused.

"Wait a minute." Merlin untied and unloaded their packs from the horses, then rummaged through his and produced a sleeping fur, which he laid, carefully Gwen noticed, over Morgana's body.

Morgana's eyes opened. "Arthur did it," she said faintly, "but, to be fair, I challenged him to fight."

Arthur had been tossing wood on the fire. He came to stand just behind Gwen, looking down at the two women. "You're going to be fine," he said, a little gruffly.

"I know that," Morgana said with irritation. "In the meantime...it hurts."

"I will have to clean this, and bind it again." Gwen decided to deal with Arthur later. Right now, Morgana had to be kept warm and comfortable so she could heal enough to ride again. She examined her forearm and the hasty dressing around it. "There are some herbs in my pack, Merlin, if you can find them—yarrow, and calendula? And there should be some clean linen."

Merlin busied himself rummaging about in her packs to find the desired items. Once he had, Gwen used a clean stone to crush the herbs into a gritty paste, which she then applied to the bandage she meant to use. Upon inspecting Morgana's arm, she realized it was not too badly damaged; thankfully, Arthur's sword had scored only a glancing slash. Still, Morgana wouldn't be able to guide a horse any time soon without risking the wound tearing open, and they would certainly have to camp here overnight.

She relayed this information, quietly, to the men.

"I can make some sort of shelter for her," Merlin volunteered. "In case it rains."

"Thank you, Merlin." Gwen directed an expectant look towards Arthur.

He stared back at her for a few moments as if he had no idea what she wanted. "I can...do whatever you need me to," he said, at last, shrugging a little helplessly.

"Go get more wood for the night, then," Gwen said crisply.

Arthur opened his mouth to say—she _knew—_that that was Merlin's job, but closed it again. "Right," he said, affecting enthusiasm, and strode off beyond the trees.

Merlin took a few moments to tether their horses with the other two, then came back into the clearing. "It's going to be strange," he said.

"What is?" Gwen carefully tore Morgana's stained sleeve up to her elbow, threw the scraps in the fire and finished the bandaging. Morgana's eyes had drifted closed again.

"Being here tonight, the four of us, together."

"I suppose." Gwen shrugged.

"Gwen—_we_ are still friends, aren't we?"

She couldn't help a small smile at the forlorn innocence of his tone. "Of course."

"But you left without...You might have said something to me, when we last talked."

She rose, wiping her hands on her trousered legs. "Honestly, Merlin, I didn't know then. I was confused and upset and Morgana convinced me to leave with her. She said I would not want to be there when—" she cleared her throat, feeling it thicken. " We packed a few things and left that night. And do you know, I believe it was the right decision."

"It's just I felt sort of...betrayed," he mumbled.

Gwen put a hand on his shoulder, touched by the child-like honesty. "If I had told you, would you not have tried to stop me? Told me that it was dangerous running off in the middle of the night?"

He shook his head.

"And the prince would have known if you knew something." Gwen thought about that for a moment. "How _did_ you know where to look for us?"

"We didn't, exactly. We were just headed in the general direction, because the king thought Morgana would go back to Tintagel. The rest of it was...intuition, I expect."

"Intuition," Gwen said dubiously.

Merlin raised his eyebrows in the cheerful manner he had. Gwen felt that she should further press him but, as always, his natural blitheness was buoying to her. She gave a reluctant smile. "You'd best get a start on that shelter you promised. Then we can have some supper."

By the time Arthur—not looking very happy—returned with two massive armloads of wood, Merlin had managed to get a simple, triangular framework constructed, over which he'd piled branches and topped with the blankets they used on the horses. He then moved Morgana underneath it, giving her his own cloak as a pillow. They met each other's eyes for a moment and Gwen was startled by the look that passed between them. She couldn't define it at all, beyond that it was knowing; they had had some interactions that she had not been privy to.

Quickly she dismissed the feeling and set about pouring the soup into the cups she'd brought. She only had hers and Morgana's, there were no extras, so she handed Morgana's to Merlin, who thanked her politely, and hers to Arthur, who made the tiniest of faces.

"Is something wrong?" Gwen demanded.

"No." Arthur stared at the broth with its limp greens floating on top. "It looks...delicious," he said gallantly.

"It is the best I could do in the absence of a kitchen," Gwen said, knowing she was snapping but unable to stop herself. Or to even, really, care. "Perhaps you would prefer to eat your own food."

"No," Merlin said hastily. "We only have bread. Not even very good bread. Awfully dry bread. I think it was stale when I got it..and then that was two days ago so...hmm...quite old and...not very good bread."

"Stop babbling, Merlin," Arthur muttered, draining his cup in a long swallow. "Er...thank you, Guinevere."

Gwen dipped her head in his direction, unable to manage a more gracious acknowledgement. She refilled their cups with the last of the soup for herself and Morgana, and then tried to persuade her friend to take some of it. Morgana sipped at the concoction but sank back down before long.

"Sleep if you can," Gwen encouraged. "Are you comfortable?"

Morgana managed a faint smile. "Quite," she said, closing her eyes and easing her bandaged arm over her chest.

Gwen used some of their drinking water to rinse out their cups and soup pot, then dried them. She was naturally tidy anyway, and with a lack of amenities one had to be even more so. It gave her pleasure to have things clean, neat and in their place, which was why, trivial though it was, it still gave her heart a stab of pain to remember how the cottage had been left.

Merlin offered to help, but she shook her head, replying that there was little enough to do.

He and Arthur were sitting on the other side of the fire. Arthur had, at least, stacked the wood nicely for later use. Gwen wondered what they would eat for their next meal. Clearly the men had been counting on a civilized repast in an inn somewhere by now, but there was no telling how far the next settlement was or when, for that matter, Morgana would safely be able to ride again. She had taken care to pack good provisions for themselves, but with two hungry men about, what she had would not go very far. Never mind the fact that Arthur was obviously used to more elaborate meals than cottager's soup. If he only knew how many times she and Tom, before his forge had become well-patronized, had sat down to less!

Shadows were lengthening rapidly now; the sun had fallen beyond the trees and it would be dark before long. Merlin was fidgeting by the fire. Gwen found her cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders. Arthur rose, looking thoughtful.

"Guinevere," he said. "If you have a moment. I would like to speak with you."

There was an unexpected gentleness in his tone. It was a request, not an order. And framed so, she could not refuse.

"Of course," she said, getting to her own feet, since it seemed obvious he meant for them to converse in private, which would necessitate at least a short walk away. She glanced at Merlin. "Will you watch Morgana?"

Merlin nodded. He even gave her a smile, though oddly, it seemed nervous.

* * *

><p>The warmth of the fur and the fire, and the exhaustion from the past few days catching up with Morgana, made her sleepy, but the pain radiating down her arm made it difficult to drift off and stay under for very long at a time.<p>

_Damn Arthur Pendragon. I may have challenged him to fight but I didn't mean for him to render me immobile. Probably he knew it was the only way to stop me._

Morgana replayed the fight behind closed eyes, trying to recall the exact moment at which she'd made a mistake, relaxed her guard long enough for him to step in. She hadn't been bragging when she'd reminded Gwen of her skills with a sword; all that she lacked in comparison with Arthur was brute strength. They had trained often enough together and she had watched him fight at the melees and tournaments enough times to have a good idea of his technique and abilities. So it was bitter to have been taken out by him, and so quickly.

"Are you sleeping, my lady?" Merlin's soft whisper startled her, and she nearly opened her eyes out of instinct, but something persuaded her at the last moment to keep them shut. She held still, maintaining an even pattern of breath. She expected he would retreat then, but he ducked in under the shelter and crouched by her side, blocking the fire so that the skin behind her closed lids turned black instead of golden-red.

For a few moments there was silence, then he rested warm knuckles against her forehead. His hand, his sleeved arm, bore the scent of pine mingled with campfire smoke.

Merlin's hand strayed from her head to the wrist on her wounded arm, and for an instant she thought she would scream if he actually attempted to put pressure on it, or move it, or...what _was_ he doing? But the touch of his fingers had barely any weight at all as they travelled up the length of her bandaged forearm, avoiding the top where the wound was. _He works with Gaius, but he's no physician himself...so what is this?_ If his hands thought to stray anywhere else, wound or no, she would divest him of at least one of them so fast...

But he had not yet done anything offensive, and her curiosity was powerful enough to keep her from unnecessarily disrupting him.

He murmured under his breath then, and circled her wrist with one hand, and put the other at the curve of the elbow.

"...**Þurhhæle licsar min**," Merlin uttered, and it wasn't even the fact that his voice, coming from deep within himself, sounded like an entirely different person. It was the fact that Morgana was suddenly sharply aware of what he was doing and what he _was_. Her eyes flew open and locked with his, fiery gold, both beautiful and terrible, sorcerer's eyes.

Quicker than thought she yanked her arm out of his grasp and moaned simultaneously at the agony of pain that knifed through it in response to the sharp movement. His eyes shot back to their normal colour.

"What are you _doing_?" she cried out.

"Morgana, no. Nothing!" He looked nearly as terrified as she felt.

"I saw you, I heard you!"

"I thought you were sleeping," he stammered.

"How does that make it any better? Get away from me!"

He shuffled backwards on his knees, looking genuinely baffled now. "I—I wasn't going to hurt you."

"Why would I believe that?"

"I don't—Morgana, I want to _help_ you, just like before, nothing's changed."

"Everything has changed! Did you forget that I had a sword at your throat this afternoon?"

"It wasn't me you wanted..."

"If you stand with Arthur, then you stand in my way!" Morgana flared back. The way he looked now it was hard to consider him a potential threat to anyone, but she couldn't forget the golden glow of his eyes just moments ago, that meant he had powers she'd never suspected.

_Of all people. Merlin. Magic.._. "I do not know you don't mean me harm!"

He ran both hands through his hair, holding his head for a moment. "That was a _healing_ spell, Morgana—"

"You admit it then, you were practising sorcery!"

Merlin stared at her, mute.

"Does Arthur know? Does Gwen?" Morgana pushed herself up on her good elbow, temporarily distracted from the discomfort.

Still he did not speak, but his eyes answered the questions.

She began to realize how powerful this information was. Perhaps she wasn't in any danger after all. As long as she could control him, by holding the threat of releasing the truth to his future king above his head...

Part of Morgana flinched at how calculating this was, particularly since deep within she suspected that Merlin really did have a well-meaning heart.

Unless, of course, he was secretly just as calculating as she was.

She still had to be careful.

"I can heal this arm," Merlin said quietly, nodding at her injury. "If you want me to."

Morgana stared at him, doubtful as to what the offer really meant. He had to realize that once she was better they were going to part ways. There would be no meek return to Camelot with the two women trailing in obedience behind the two men. But he was proposing to make their parting happen all the sooner? To do what would essentially be thwarting Arthur?

"You don't trust me," he said, as if he had just now realized it.

"You really are a fool, aren't you?" she said, but uncertainly.

He smiled, and his smile had something less of a boy and more of a man in it, of humour, pain, of a great capacity for forgiveness—and suddenly, at the last, there was a flash, a revelation, of nearly astounding knowledge.

It was that knowledge, Morgana realized, that was going to be her biggest threat.


	10. Chapter 9

Despite the fact that Arthur had, essentially, asked Guinevere to grant him an audience—he certainly felt like he was the supplicant this time, even though he'd had intentions of being kind but firm and insisting she and Morgana return with them to Camelot as soon as Morgana's injury had sufficiently healed—he could not find the words to start the conversation.

So they were, simply, walking. At least the landscape of the ridge was favourable to such an activity, being mainly flat and sparsely treed, and offering a good view (from a military perspective) of the valley below to the east.

Over in the west, the sun was setting and it looked quite pretty to Arthur's eyes. He found the ambiance agreeable and was hoping it would do something to soften the heart of Morgana's maid, who did not seem as though she were in the mood to be talked kindly but firmly to.

He'd been considering possible scenarios in his head:

_Guinevere. As your future king I must insist— _

_[No, that probably wouldn't go over well.] _

_As my subject you have no choice but to—_

_[Ugh.] _

_Guinevere. Morgana is not thinking clearly. I am relying on you to use your good sense to convince her to come back to Camelot._

"My lord?"

He halted his step, wondering had he somehow said his last thought out loud.

She was looking inquiringly up at him, a slight crease in her forehead. "You did wish to talk."

Arthur cleared his throat. "Yes. The truth of the matter is, Guinevere—" What _was _the truth of the matter, devil take it? He wished she were one of his men. It would be so much simpler to chastise her and have her get back to her duties. "The current situation is less than ideal, I'm sure you'll agree."

She appeared to give that a moment's thought, and then said, "Yes."

"The fact of the matter is..." It occurred to him he was beginning to sound somewhat repetitive. "Your departure from the castle was extremely—precipitous. We were worried, both for the lady Morgana, and for you. And as you are a citizen of Camelot" (yes, that was much better than calling her his subject, she could scarcely take offence to that) "you understand that it's my responsibility and my concern that you are safe."

"I understand," she agreed, nodding.

He began to relax. "Of course, the occurrence which—I assume—prompted you to leave was deeply unfortunate and I take that into consideration. I don't want you to think I am being unfeeling."

Guinevere shook her head gravely.

"Still, rather than leaving, you should have come to me."

"I did come to you." She gazed at him with dark brown eyes that were disconcertingly direct.

He took a breath, held it for a minute, then let it out. "I want you to know I tried my hardest to change your father's sentencing."

"My lord—"

"Arthur. Please."

"I don't blame you for his death."

He didn't know if he believed that. Especially recalling Morgana's gibe: _she is not going to want to see your face_.

His doubt must have shown because Guinevere persisted, "Really. I am not that kind of person."

"And Morgana?"

"She does blame you; but that is because she cares about me, I think, and also she feels for the many others who have had losses. Moreover, as good as she's been to me, she has a rather vengeful nature." Sighing, Guinevere paced a few steps away. "You should not have engaged her, today. Much less wounded her."

Arthur laughed in disbelief before he could hold it back, and followed. "I had no wish to fight! It's not fair to take on a woman. And I had no intention of injuring her."

"I thought you two had fought before? Morgana mentioned something about it."

"In _practice_, yes, many a time, but never in earnest. It seems she is taking this defection seriously—Are you cold?"

She was gathering her worn cloak about her shoulders. "No. A little."

"Do you want to go back?" Arthur unclasped his own cloak, stepped in and though Guinevere looked up, startled, and made to protest, he fastened it about her neck. Just in time he prevented himself from saying that his was warmer and of better quality.

That would have, to quote Merlin, sounded really prattish.

"Yes, unless there is more you wish to say?"

He hesitated.

Guinevere waited patiently.

"I don't want to lead like my father does, Guinevere, giving orders and caring nothing for the feelings of my people. So I am going to _ask_ you, if it comes down to allegiance to your mistress, or allegiance to your prince..."

"I do believe that you care about your people, and I am glad for that," she said, very slowly. "If you order me to return to Camelot, my lord, I will obey."

It was a false victory and not what he was hoping to hear her say. He wondered if he had played that wrong, after all. Only time would tell...they weren't going anywhere tonight, in any case. "I see," Arthur said.

Dark had fallen and he offered her his arm, formally, for the walk back. She took it, her hand just the lightest of touches.

* * *

><p>Gwen awoke in the morning to see Merlin, propped up against a tree and evidently supposed to be on the second watch, nodding off. Arthur was on the far side of the fire, sleeping sprawled out over the ground.<p>

His cloak had kept her comfortably warm all night. She felt a little guilty for that.

The sky was overcast, and the air cool, but Gwen was well used to waking before the sun. Quietly, she rose, washed her face with a handful of drinking water and set out in search of inspiration for their breakfast. Last night's walk had led her to mark the location of several bushes brimming with berries, which she re-discovered and picked an apronful of easily, then hurried back to the campsite, where all were still asleep. Including Merlin. Gwen smiled. Well, she couldn't imagine that there was any danger lurking now that it was light. Let him sleep.

She rummaged through his pack in search of the stale bread that would need eating. While in the service of the village seamstress, a woman who had a powerful intolerance for any wasted edibles, Gwen had learned some practical techniques to extend the life of food. In contrast, after becoming Morgana's maid, and having occasion to visit the castle kitchens on a regular basis, Gwen had been shocked to see the often flagrant wastage. Food was rejected by the nobles on the smallest of pretexts.

Now, she put the ends of the stale loaf into the pot, added water and several handfuls of the crushed berries. Once it had steamed for a while, it would make a nutritious (if not visually appealing) mush, with which they could break their fast. She didn't expect it would become Arthur's new favourite, but then, it wouldn't hurt him to live temporarily like the majority of his people, making do with what there was.

Gwen hummed softly as she stoked the smoky coals of last night's fire with the remainder of the piled wood.

Merlin stirred and cracked open an eye. "Morning."

"So much for guard duty." Gwen made a face at him.

He groaned a little and rubbed his head. "I'm not used to it."

"Don't worry, Arthur's still sleeping and I won't tell."

He grinned and then leaned forwards, his expression fading into one of concern. "Morgana...is she all right?"

"I think so." Gwen looked back at Morgana's form, still enshrouded in the fur and underneath the shelter. Her sleep had been fitful for most of the night, but she seemed once again to have fallen into a deeper slumber.

Gwen looked back at Merlin, then decided to say what she had been thinking. "I must say, I didn't realize the two of you...had any kind of acquaintance."

"We don't," he said, too quickly.

She cocked an eyebrow. "Last night, when we returned from the walk, you both seemed quite agitated?"

His cheekbones were darkening in colour. "I, well, we just—talked. Trying to pass the time."

"Ah." Gwen picked up a green stick and stirred the contents of the pot.

"What about you?" Merlin wrapped his arms around his knees in an impish manner.

"What about me?"

"You and Arthur were gone for a while."

Gwen laughed. "Merlin! We barely said anything to each other."

Merlin widened his eyes. "Really."

"You know what I mean. It was just..." she concentrated for a moment, trying to define exactly what their conversation had been. "He wants us to go back to Camelot, all of us, together."

"And what do you think about that?"

"I'm a servant, I don't have an opinion." Gwen stirred the mush very hard.

He tossed a pebble in her direction. "That's not the Guinevere I know."

"Things are different now, Merlin—we're not out here on vacation." Gwen sighed. "I am here because there is nothing for me back at the castle. You are here because you belong with Arthur." She glanced behind her to ascertain Morgana was still sleeping. "So until _they_ figure out what they want to do, we don't have a choice in what _we_ do."

"Well," Merlin said, "No matter what happens, someone's not going to be happy."

"Mmm."

Breakfast, conducted shortly after Arthur awoke, was a quiet affair; and Gwen was amused to note that not only Merlin but the prince ate every last bit of what was offered to him, and no one commented on stale bread, or made any faces. Of course, this could be ascribed to pure hunger rather than any learning of manners, but she took it as a positive sign, nonetheless.

Gwen couldn't induce Morgana to eat any of the preparation, however; she said she had no stomach for it. That concerned her. A lack of appetite didn't usually go hand in hand with fast healing.

_I need to change the dressing on her arm, too; and mix up a fresh herb poultice. Perhaps try a different combination of herbs?_ She would have liked to have been able to follow Gaius around at Camelot, observing his treatments of patients and absorbing some of his teachings. She didn't think she would ever make a really skilled healer, but it seemed smart to know, at least a little, how to doctor one's self, as well as provide some rudimentary dressings of this type to the injured. Gwen had never had occasion to lurk much in the physician's rooms but she'd always been fascinated by the myriad smells of the herbage, the vast array of potions and the various arcanery on display.

She wished she had Gaius' supplies now, not to mention his considerable wealth of knowledge. But now Camelot was behind her. Though was it? She had promised Arthur to return with him if he willed it; it was her duty. Whether he intended to make her fulfil that promise or not, she had no idea.

"Guinevere," Arthur's voice startled her out of her brief moment of reflection, as she was unwinding fresh linen for new bandages. "I'm going hunting, below on the plains. Do you want me to take Merlin with me or leave him here?"

_Leave me here!_ Merlin mouthed from where he stood by the horses, giving them each a tiny quantity of grain.

Gwen chewed on the inside of her cheek and tried to maintain an even expression. "You must do as you will, my lord."

Merlin's eyebrows shot up in incredulity. Perhaps she was laying it on rather thickly. But Arthur seemed flattered by the meekness of her response. "Well," he said, buckling his sword belt, "it's not as if he'll be much use to you in the matter of protection. It would be easier to train a—" he turned and looked accusingly at his manservant-"an inebriated _monkey_ in the arts of swordsmanship than him."

"Surely he can't be that bad," Gwen said, pressing her lips together.

"Oh, believe me, he is. The only thing he's worse at is...perhaps—hunting." Arthur frowned.

"Then you know what you should do with him," Gwen smiled.

"Mm. Yes. He can stay here. Have him collect wood for tonight. He's passable at that."

Once Arthur had saddled up and departed, heading off the ridge, Merlin relaxed. "He's right, you know," he said, cheerfully. "If there's anything more boring than training, it's hunting."

"Well, I hope he gets something, then there will be plenty to eat for once." Gwen had scarcely had more than a few spoonfuls from the morning's mush, either; she'd divided most of it between the men. "Help me with Morgana, will you? I need to check the wound."

Morgana lay quiescent and unprotesting while they crouched beside her. Gwen unwrapped her arm and inspected it. The wound looked slightly inflamed, and the surrounding forearm was somewhat swollen. Gwen mouthed, _I think it's getting worse,_ at Merlin although his face showed that he'd already come to the same conclusion.

She quickly crushed some new herbs from the small quantity in her pack and re-dressed Morgana's arm, then spent some time sponging her mistress' forehead with a damp bit of linen, while Merlin looked on.

"We need more water," Gwen murmured, brushing hair out of her own face. "Did you see any on the way up?"

"There was the pond. It's a bit of a ride, but you can probably see it from the edge of the cliff, over there. Shall I go?"

Gwen considered. It seemed to her they should stay together as much as possible, given the dubious dynamics of various relationships; however, she really wanted to wash more than just her face and hands, impossible to do in the presence of the men, and this was a good opportunity.

"You know Arthur wouldn't want you to go anywhere by yourself," Merlin warned, after her moment of silence.

"He didn't say as such," Gwen retorted.

"No, but Arthur kind of likes people to read his mind. Or at least, he reserves the right to get angry at them when they don't."

"Well—" She had made her decision, the idea of a bath of sorts was too tempting. "I shall not be gone long, and if he does return before I do, tell him that you tried to stop me."

He shrugged. "All right, then."

"And keep Morgana still, in case she has any ideas of moving around." Gwen rummaged through her pack, took out fresh clothing, her small dagger and all the waterbags, and re-tied them up into a bundle. "I'll be back soon," she said, heading towards her horse.


	11. Chapter 10

_Þurhhæle licsar min. _Why hadn't it worked? He had never attempted a healing spell before, but there was no reason for it not to work. Perhaps she'd interrupted him, broken his concentration. She had _definitely_ broken his concentration. He'd thought she was asleep! He'd never have tried it on her awake.

Merlin rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand in frustration. He tried to remember the other healing spells he'd read about in Gaius' book. He could think of half-a-dozen flame spells at any given moment (usually when Arthur was being particularly doltish) but nothing but this one particular healing spell would come to his mind. Gaius was right, he should have studied harder. But so often it seemed that he would never have the chance to use any of the knowledge he accumulated...that he would never know a world in which he could freely and openly practice the craft he'd been born to. _Þurhhæle licsar min! _He had to try it again.

Gwen had been gone long enough that it seemed safe. Crouching down by Morgana, Merlin was momentarily struck by how pale she was, so pale that her skin looked fairly bloodless. That couldn't be good.

"I told you to stay away from me," she said. Weakly. Her eyes were lined round with exhaustion. "Where is Gwen? Arthur?"

"Gwen has gone to fetch water. Arthur is hunting. Morgana, this arm is getting worse."

"Don't touch me, sorcerer."

He almost laughed except for the strange apprehension in her gaze. Then he said, as gently as he could, "You're not afraid of magic, my lady."

"Why do you say so?"

"Because there's—" He paused for a minute, marshaling his thoughts. "Because I can feel that you're not. When I'm around you? And even when I'm not around you—" Merlin had to look away from her for a moment, it seemed too intensely personal to say while looking right into her eyes. "I _feel_ you."

"You're mad."

"No I'm not. There is something in you that's talking to me."

"Nonsense!"

"I think you feel it too."

Her nostrils flared in mute protest.

He knew that even if he was following the letter of Gwen's law he certainly wasn't following the spirit; Morgana was anything but _still_ right now, emotionally at least. But he needed her—needed someone—to understand that there was nothing wrong with sorcery, nothing wrong with the powers he'd been given—and he didn't want her to deny it any longer.

He took a deep breath. "I think you _have_ it, Morgana—_too—_"

She gave a quite inhuman cry, something he wasn't prepared for and it nearly knocked him backwards. And then the roof of the makeshift shelter flew off and that did knock him backwards, though he scrambled immediately to his feet.

Morgana was visibly trembling, the pupils of her eyes tiny as the sky opened up above them, and the irises still with a tinge of gold, now dying down.

_She is a witch. I knew I wasn't imagining it_. He put out a hand, meaning to appease her, but she flinched as if she expected some retaliation, some comparable act.

"Did you...mean to do that?"

"Of course I didn't mean to do it!" Morgana clutched at her injured arm and tried, awkwardly, to prop herself up on her other elbow, scrabbling backwards amid the tumbled and split branches that he'd used to form the shelter roof.

"It's all right." Maybe it was different with her, maybe she hadn't learned how to control her powers yet. He couldn't remember not being able to move things with his mind, but perhaps it wasn't that way, with everyone. "I won't tell them, if you don't want anyone to know."

"There is nothing to tell. For all I know it was you who did that just now!"

"Morgana, how can you pretend—"

"Don't Merlin, just don't! How could you possibly know what it's like?"

He heard the desperation in her voice but was momentarily stunned by her self-centeredness, her ignorance of those around her. "How could I _know_? Every moment of every _day_ I have to hide what I am to the world. You think I don't know what it's like?"

"It's different for you, you're not the king's ward, not in the public eye like I am," Morgana protested.

He was silent for a bit, wondering if it would ever be possible for her to understand what a privileged existence she'd had. "Tell me what is it that's so difficult about your life."

She made an abortive gesture. And winced. "Uther is responsible for the deaths of hundreds of people. What if you could feel the deaths of all those people? See them? See future deaths? Without cease. Over and over again in your head."

"I could feel that, if you let me."

Morgana shuddered. "Why would you want to?"

Merlin reached for her hand. Her fingers were cold and she tried to pull back, but without much strength since it was the injured arm. "Because, my lady, it is easier to share a burden than bear it alone. Let me fix this. I know I can."

She did not assent, but stopped resisting his grip, and looked away into the woods for a moment, then back at him, meeting his eyes as if giving defiant permission.

Merlin concentrated, focusing on the promise of healing, of knitting together, of making whole with fire. He knew the spell was crude, that if it did work it might leave marks on her, and he didn't want to think his work would leave a permanent result; but right now function was more important than form—it just had to be done.

And hopefully it wouldn't hurt more than it had to.

"**Þurhhæle licsar min!**" The words came out, and with them a burst of light, and Morgana pulled back against his hand with a sharp scream like a bitten animal, but he held her still and knew that it had worked; steam rose off the charred remnants of the bandage, which fell away and he could see a slightly jagged scar, horizontal along her forearm. It was beautiful because it'd worked, and he stopped the smile from spreading across his face because he knew Morgana would assume he was enjoying the moment of pain it had cost. Which was wrong because all he'd ever wanted in association with her was to stop the pain that emanated from her. Only now, he wasn't sure what he wanted but he was pretty certain there was more to it than just that.

_I want you to trust me_.

_Why?_ his logical self argued.

_I don't know, I just do. Because you have to trust someone, sometime, why not me? Because I want to know what we could do together if we trusted each other._

Morgana ran hesitant fingers along the length of the scar, brushing the last of the wrappings off.

"What does it feel like?"

"Healed," she said, somewhat shortly. She sat up.

"Maybe you should—"

She turned her eyes on him. What eyes she had; they spoke so much. "What?" she demanded, and she was all the king's ward again, regal and haughty despite her tangled mass of hair with leaves in it and bloodstained, travel-worn clothing.

"Rest," he said. "A little more. To be sure there are no ill effects."

"You doubt your magic?"

"No, I just—don't think you should exert yourself right away."

"Have you even _done_ this before?" Morgana scrambled to her feet, brushing detritus from herself.

"You're welcome," he murmured, leaning back to look up at her.

Morgana gave a short appreciative laugh though he didn't think it was for the comment as much as for her arm function. She made a fist and flexed her forearm muscles. "Where's my sword?"

He shrugged.

She whirled on him. "I still have a dagger."

"Arthur did something with it." Merlin held his hands out palm up. "I really don't know."

She muttered something unflattering about the Pendragon lineage. Merlin pressed his lips together and tried to keep a straight face.

Morgana looked around for her pack, found it, stooped and shouldered it. She whistled sharply for her horse, since the remaining two were not in view. The animal answered with a whuffle some distance away. "Well," she said. "I'm leaving. Don't try to stop me." She eyed him for a moment.

He shook his head. "What do you want me to tell Arthur?"

"I leave that up to your imagination." Morgana strode off in the direction of the animals, calling "I'm sure you can procure something creative," over her shoulder as she went.

He waited only until the sound of the horse's hooves had diminished. Then he threw together his own belongings, saddled up his mare and followed Morgana's tracks to the east off the ridge. There was no way he was going to wait around for the prince to return, and there were two very good reasons for this. One, Arthur would throw something at him if he'd allowed Morgana to escape. Two, they would be following her anyway. Merlin figured that avoiding the first instance and getting a head start on the second was the best possible thing he could do in this situation.

* * *

><p>Quail were irretrievably stupid, Arthur decided. They practically begged to be eaten. They nearly walked right up into one's lap and asked to be killed.<p>

And he was fine with that. Because he didn't have his bow to bring down the much smarter, and considerably faster, deer. Not to mention the vast quantity of meat a deer represented for which they had no need. He didn't normally give much thought to wasting food, but the fact was, an uneaten deer did not smell very good. Besides attracting other predators.

So for the time being, two quail would do quite nicely. All it had taken was a couple of small, sharp rocks tossed at precisely the right moment and angle to fell them to the ground. Both were only stunned, but squirming, yet there was ample time to use his sword to remove their heads from their bodies.

Still, they were so stupid that even that didn't kill them, not right away.

Arthur Pendragon had never plucked a chicken or a quail in his life. Which was not to say he didn't know how to do it; how many times had he watched Merlin or another of his men when they were out in the forests? It was a messy business. Not that he was fastidious. It was just he had better things to do. Food preparation was a servant's domain and unless he was alone (which he never was, and while this was sometimes a source of exasperation for him, most of the time he found it rather convenient), Arthur did not trouble himself with it.

He imagined Guinevere would be delighted with the quail. A satisfying dinner, neatly attended to. He pictured himself laying the birds at her feet with an air as though it had been no trouble at all to find them. (And as it really hadn't, this did not strain his imagination.) _"Meat for tonight,"_ he would say, rather casually. She would probably curtsy. She did have a delightful way of curtsying. Pleasant without being obsequious. Arthur hated obsequious. Then: "_Thank you, Arthur_!" she would say. Although, perhaps not. He noticed that she rather pointedly continued to call him _my lord_. He figured it was her way of keeping distance between them. Rather silly, that. Out here in the woods, what need could there be for distance between them? It wasn't as if anyone else was around to disapprove or rebuke her for familiarity. He liked things to be comfortable and practical. Yes, she was a servant but as he'd already noted to himself previously, she was a servant with considerable pluck, wit, and she smelled nice—so she was basically the ideal example of one of his people. Guinevere _was_ Camelot. To be cared for, to be protected.

And then after they ate he would compliment her on the excellent preparation of the birds and how good it had tasted and this time it wouldn't be a lie. And then she would be pleased enough to listen to his suggestion about how it was in her best interest to convince Morgana to return to the castle...and she might even agree.

Which meant they would be on their way back that much sooner.

And be done with all this nonsense about mental pain and unnecessary wounds and chasing flighty women through the forest on rations of stale bread which were all one's incompetent manservant had thought to pack.

Arthur smiled.

Tonight was going to go much better. He had a feeling.

And it was all going to begin with those birds.

He tracked back through the mossy woods to where he'd left his mount, tucked the headless quail into a sack and attached them to the saddle, then rode out.

He hadn't wanted to stray too far from the ridge, so had stayed close to the road they'd ridden in on the day before, and backtracked down it. Now, he was coming up near the stony section with the pond below where Morgana had ambushed Merlin. The grasses made the pond invisible, but as he rode by, his horse slowed and nickered inquisitively. There was an answering nicker and after a moment Guinevere's mare popped her head up, shaggy mane waving in the breeze.

He pulled up and quietly dismounted. He couldn't think why the devil Guinevere, or her horse for that matter, would be here, though he supposed that now (unless something had happened beyond her control) he should have made it quite clear that none of them were to go anywhere for any purpose.

Drawing his sword, he used it to sweep aside the grasses in front of him on his way down.


	12. Chapter 11

_A/N: At this point I should mention that there will be more Arthur/Gwen interaction from now, if anyone who ships them feels they haven't gotten much so far. :) It was hard to choose a primary couple since, as I said in the prologue, I did intend for the story to be about all four. I hope no one feels misled and that most of you are enjoying it. Thanks for reading. -SW_

* * *

><p>The pond was delicious, especially after one had gone for three days without washing more than face and hands. Gwen lay on her back, feeling the warm mid-morning sun on her neck and the water pushing against the tips of her fingers, holding her up. She closed her eyes. Further down the shore, as her ears came in and out of the water, she could hear the muffled [unmuffled] chirps of sandbirds.<p>

She was actively trying to empty her head, just for now, just for a few moments, and lose herself in the stillness, the warmth and wet, but thoughts crowded themselves in her minds anyway, like ants converging on spilled crumbs.

_Should be hurrying back, shouldn't leave those two alone for long, there is something between them, though Merlin wouldn't tell me what. Should get back, so I can hang up my clothes, do something about a midday meal..._

It was hard for her, simply to relax in the moment, any moment. She was so accustomed to having at least her hands busy with needlework, that it felt gratuitous, lazy even, to be doing absolutely nothing at all. Coming here to wash had been purposeful, but she had scrubbed herself already and was now merely floating. There was no excuse to linger.

Her world was orange heat against her eyelids and wet.

Her world was..._work, and move, and make, and keep the memories as far as possible..._

Her throat hurt.

Swallowing, she lost balance in the water a little and turned over, finding the swampy bottom with her feet beneath her, about waist deep it was, streaming water and a few weeds as she stood up, swaying, the weight of her clothing pulling at her arms, her thighs.

The crown prince of Camelot was standing a dozen paces from the shore with his sword hanging from his hand as if he'd forgotten he was holding it.

_Arthur._..oh, dear. A good thing she'd decided at the last moment that she should keep her clothes on. Gwen took a step forward and staggered in the muddy silt along the bottom. She regained her balance in time, planted her feet firmly and tried to look gracefully enquiring. Difficult to do, convincingly, when you had weeds clinging to your hips.

Arthur cleared his throat. "Guinevere. What are you doing?"

_Attempting to swim across the great sea of Meredor, of course_.

Gwen pressed her lips together and smiled. "I am only taking a bath, my lord. No need for alarm."

"I am...not alarmed," Arthur said slowly.

They stared at each other for a few moments.

"Right." Arthur turned, sheathed the sword, and made as if to go back up the hill. Then he stopped, without turning, and added: "I'll wait for you. Up by the stones."

Gwen started to protest but he didn't pause long enough for that, and promptly disappeared.

So much for a few stolen, relaxing moments! She waded to the shore, and wrung out as much of her clothing as it would allow. Stripping it off, she scrambled into her fresh clothes—her workdress, the only one she owned—as quickly as possible. (She assumed that a knight would have far too much honour to spy on her, but one never knew.) Gwen used a sack to towel-dry her hair, tied its recalcitrant masses back with a strip of fabric, and smoothed her apron over her dress. It was less convenient to ride in than her tunic and trousers, but was all she had for now.

Gathering up the previously filled waterbags and the rest of her things, Gwen marched up through the grasses. She had tethered her mare halfway down the hill, but Arthur had brought the animal up by his so they were waiting together.

"I am done," she announced, with a touch of defiance.

Arthur acknowledged the remark with a nod. Silently he helped her up on the mare; he must have noticed that it would be more difficult to do in her new attire, and she was grateful because she was sure she would have looked quite ridiculous trying to do so by herself. Not to mention the havoc it might have wreaked upon her dress. Rather clumsily astride the horse, she exhaled.

By the time they arrived back at the top of the ridge, the sun had slipped out of view behind growing clouds. The horses kept pace, stepping gently among the undergrowth, side by side, until they came upon their campsite of the previous night.

Gwen stared at the destruction of the shelter. Black charcoal where the fire had been. No Morgana, recuperating; no Merlin gathering firewood. A knot of fear lodged itself firmly in her stomach. "Whatever could have happened?"

Arthur waved her back as she was about to swing down. "Stay on the horse."

He dismounted and took a quick visual summary of the immediate area, then a more thorough one, examining the ground for tracks. After a few minutes had passed, he came back to her side. "No one else has been here. Both their packs are gone and the horses left together or shortly after each other, the tracks are just about as fresh."

"But that doesn't make sense. How could Morgana ride? She was worse this morning. And why would one of them tear down the shelter?" Gwen stared at the haphazard pile of rubble.

Arthur ran a hand through hair dampened by perspiration, tumbling it. He looked up at her grimly, wordlessly, and she suddenly wondered, irrationally perhaps, when things had gotten so confusing. Shouldn't she still be the little girl who had played with her brother in the fields? Wasn't she supposed to be placing a bowl of stew at her smiling father's place, or sitting by the fire with a lap full of sewing, but her mind blessedly free to wander where it would?

She bit her lip. _That is over now. I don't want to feel sorry for myself. Not now—there's no time for it. It won't help me, it won't help us find our friends._

Sitting up a bit straighter in the saddle, Gwen resolved to be as helpful as possible on their new mission. Arthur didn't need her doubts added to his—and he clearly had his, he wasn't even trying to hide them; the way he stood, his forehead furrowed, trying to process the evidence that lay around them that, after all, only told them one thing—Merlin and Morgana were gone.

* * *

><p>When the rain first started to fall, Morgana welcomed it.<p>

True, she was going to get soaked, and riding horseback was never especially pleasant when it was pouring, although in this warm weather there was no danger of catching a chill. But if there was any kind of serious rainfall (and judging from the angry purple swathing the horizon, such was on its way) Merlin was going to have a hard time following her tracks.

The trouble was, he wasn't very far behind.

And she didn't, really, have any purposeful destination point ahead of her. She suspected she was heading more or less north, towards the lands of Mercia now. But with no maps and no sun for a visual guide, it was impossible to know.

It didn't matter to her. After the clash with Arthur and the subsequent forced inactivity, she was grateful purely to have freedom of movement back, for the open forest stretching out and onwards.

_Still, I have no sword, few supplies, and am no longer within Camelot's borders_. She was aware she'd have to reassess the situation from a practical standpoint soon, but that moment was not just yet.

The ridge they had been camped on was only one in a series of many. The terrain was far more mountainous here, and it made for slower, more dangerous going, but it also was what had alerted her to the fact that Merlin was following; it was fairly impossible to hide on a shale slope or coming down from a vertiginous height into a sparsely treed valley. She intended to widen the gap between them as quickly as possible, because now there was no way even to stop and rest the horse for a little without risking him catching up to her.

Ahead, through the now steadily falling rain, Morgana could see her options limited for forging across the upcoming terrain. To the left, a cliff. Straight ahead, a hill that veered sharply downwards, (at which the gelding would likely balk) or off to the right, a more gradual incline ribboned with stone that would take probably twice as long to navigate.

The gelding flicked his ears back when she nudged him forward, prancing nervously, unwilling to try the drop, as she'd predicted. She didn't wait to re-consider the decision. This was the opportunity to put a significant bit of distance between herself and her pursuer, who would almost certainly take the more prudent course. She was quite sure she wanted to elude him more than he wanted to catch her. He was just trying to impress his master, no doubt.

"Hah!" Morgana batted tangled, wet hair out of her eyes and dug her booted heels into the gelding's sides. He snorted in irritation and bolted forwards over the precipice.

And it was as if the earth fell away beneath both of them, and she was plunging, flying through the air.

Merlin was too far back to stop it from happening. He didn't really even see it happening, because she had disappeared just as his mare was cantering up the last stretch. When he arrived at the edge he scrambled off the horse and yelled Morgana's name down into the rain. The hill was pouring streams of mud and was peppered with rocks. The gelding floundered below, neighing frantically. Morgana slowly arose from somewhere near, clutching her shoulder.

He plunged down the hillside, skidding and nearly sliding further than he meant to go till he reached her side, demanding, "Are you all right?"

She nodded, although there was a long muddy scrape along her jaw. "My horse..."

They climbed together over to the animal. Merlin was no expert in equine matters but even he could see that the beast's leg was broken.

"I thought he could do it," she said, a little distantly.

He rarely had violent thoughts but he had an urge to slap her. If she'd just taken the sensible route. He looked away, unable to bear the panicked whites of the horse's rolling eyes. Arthur would have been able to put an injured animal down with no compunction, but he was sensitive to suffering and now, out of necessity, the task fell to him.

"Get back, Morgana."

"What are you—"

"Get _back_!" He stabbed his hand up the hill.

Slowly, she moved, gathering her mud-sodden cloak about her. He waited until she was at the top again, by his mare. Which he knew she wouldn't have the gall to steal, not now. Merlin focused on one of the larger rocks, moved his hand towards it with splayed fingers, concentrating.

The rock unearthed itself and then with dizzying force met its target in the head of the horse.

The hillside went silent, but for the dripping rain.

He felt...dirty. Tired. He tipped his head back and looked up at the grey sky, trying to unsee the whole thing. It was a few moments before he could make himself move, clambering over the rocks to the hill's top, where she stood, silently, waiting. Hood drawn up, eyes downcast. Looking regretful, and that vindictively pleased him for an instant, except it wasn't enough.

"Why do you insist on causing so much trouble?" he fired at her.

"I had...to get away," she said.

"Then go!"

His shout seemed to reverberate in the hills. Morgana actually jumped a little. Stared at him as though she weren't sure if he were serious. Then slowly she began to move down the incline, the edge of her cloak trailing along the ribboned rock.

Merlin swung back up on his mare and sat in the saddle. He wanted to be angry. He _was_ still angry, but for some reason it didn't occur to him to make her march back in the direction they'd come. He just rode behind her. And if the back of her sodden, hooded head made him feel a twinge of guilt he kept it in.

It wouldn't kill the lady Morgana Pendragon to walk for once. Especially when it was through her own foolishness she'd lost her ride.


	13. Chapter 12

"Damn this rain," Arthur said forcefully, bringing the horse to a stop.

It was time to admit it; he'd lost the trail and had no idea where to go from here. Once they had gotten to the base of the mountains, the tracks had been obliterated by the wet and it was impossible to tell whether Merlin and Morgana had skirted around through the flats in the west or gone up through the mountain pass. He had ended up betting on the flats, and now they had left the mountains behind and were close to Mercian territory.

Guinevere drew up her mare, just behind him. She had her hood up and he could barely make out her profile in the gathering gloom. "It _is_ rather persistent," she remarked. "Are we lost?"

She asked it practically, not as a criticism, the way some might have. He appreciated that. "No, the northern road should not be far from here." He would have been able to check on the maps, but those were with Merlin, wherever he was. Arthur sighed. "However—their trail is gone."

"So what should we do?"

"Well, Guinevere, what I _should_ do is turn us around and go back to Camelot. The king is waiting for an update and I could go out again with more men, proper supplies, better maps of this particular area—"

"But you aren't going to do that?" She leaned forward on the horse curiously.

"No. If they're in trouble, that's time we can't afford."

_I can find them, I just need...something. A little help. The rain to stop, that would be a good start. For that fool Merlin to leave me a hint. Something._

"Are you all right to keep going?" he asked her.

"Yes, of course."

"I don't know what's ahead of us." Well, terrain-wise, he did; he'd been through Mercia—a rough country of wild and boastful men—but it was hard to picture it from a woman's perspective. "I can't promise you'll be comfortable."

"I understand."

"I _can_ promise you'll be safe." He decided he had better finish with something positive. And he was glad he had because there was a smile in Guinevere's voice when she replied, "Then let us continue."

In saying he hadn't known what lay ahead he turned out to be prescient. Shortly after they'd reached the northern road, his horse threw a shoe and fell from a canter into an awkward hobble. _Not now,_ Arthur thought; of course it wasn't the beast's fault but couldn't it have waited until they were closer to a town? Walking, they would be lucky to reach one by nightfall.

Guinevere suggested they both ride her mare, but he couldn't see giving the extra burden to an already tired animal. Leading the limping stallion, he set out resignedly. At least the rain had slackened to a bare drizzle.

They made slight conversation along the way, both trying to keep the mood light, neither alluding to what might have become of his servant or her erstwhile mistress. When they rounded a hill and saw the lights of a town in the valley nestled below it was some surprise to both of them that the time had passed so quickly.

It was nearly dark.

"What do you say to some food?" Arthur helped Guinevere down from the mare, noting that she was completely soaked and, though she tried to smile, was obviously tired from the day's journey. Horses splattered through the muddy streets behind them and there was music, mingled with raucous laughter from some of the public taverns. Men were just beginning their evening course of drinks. He was going to have to keep close watch.

"Lovely. But...perhaps...in private?" She gestured at herself with an embarrassed expression.

Arthur arranged for a room. Really, for Guinevere's sake he would have preferred to get two, but then again, he didn't trust the locks on the doors. Didn't trust the landlord, for that matter, who pocketed his offered payment with a beery grin and promised to deal with the horses.

_I did warn her_, he thought, when the man showed them to the tiny back room they were to have (claiming it was all there was available this night) and departed. _There isn't even a proper bed_. Instead, a pair of limp straw pallets lay in the corner. Well, that was Mercian hospitality for you.

Guinevere sat down on one of the three-legged stools, next a table, which was the only other furniture in the room, and slowly unfastened her cloak at the neck.

He stood in the doorway, hand on hilt, undecided. He didn't want to leave her, and not just because people seemed to disappear whenever he left them alone for a few minutes. While he hesitated in the hallway, he noticed a slightly harassed-looking serving girl going by, and he called to her. She paused, and slouched over without enthusiasm, but Arthur gave her a winning smile, instructions to bring hot food and blankets, and some coin for her trouble. This improved her attitude, and she curtsied and went on her way.

Arthur came into the room then, kicking the door partly closed behind him, and unbuckled his sword belt. He'd chosen not to wear mail or any armour on this journey; the additional weight was a consideration when in pursuit of others. Still, it left one feeling a little vulnerable in unfamiliar territory. But he'd been careful to go unmarked with the Pendragon crest so as not to be a target. He wore a simple leather jerkin over a brown shirt, underneath the cloak he'd lent to Guinevere which was now, like hers, soaked with rain and mud.

He hung up his sword belt and cloak on the pegs on the wall, then took Guinevere's cloak—which she had been holding, as if uncertain what to do with it—for her and hung it up as well.

She murmured her surprised thanks.

"You're welcome. Pity there's no fire, it would dry them faster."

There would, of course, be a fire lit in the main serving room of the inn, but the main room would also be filled with things he wanted to keep her away from; like men, and alcohol. And men _drinking_ alcohol. Arthur wiped his hands on a cleaner portion of his cloak. A flagon of ale would have gone down very nicely just now, after two nights spent outdoors; but there was no way he was going to leave her for one.

A discreet tap just outside the door, and the girl entered, balancing blankets on one hip and their dinner atop a tray on the other. "Here you are, m'lord. M'lady." She set the food down on the table and placed the blankets by the pallets.

"Thank you," Guinevere said, after a brief silence.

The girl looked at Arthur. He couldn't think what she was on about. He'd already given her coin just for doing her job. Presumably the wench didn't expect any more.

After a moment, she dipped her head and departed in a swish of skirts. Arthur crossed over to the table to inspect the food she'd brought. Pleasantly, it looked and smelled better than he had expected; two plates of some sort of meat stew with a hunk of bread apiece. He was ravenous. Swinging a leg over the second stool, he sat down and sampled the food, gesturing for Guinevere to do the same.

Her forehead was wrinkled.

"What?" He wondered if she objected to his table manners. One wouldn't think so, if she was anywhere near as hungry as he was.

"The servant," Guinevere said at last.

"What about her?" He sopped a piece of the bread in the gravy and used the spoon to mash what looked like a chunk of turnip.

"Nothing...You didn't thank her."

Arthur shrugged. "You did."

"Yes, but it would have meant more coming from you."

"Why should it? Eat, Guinevere, the food's actually quite good."

She pulled her stool closer to her side of the table but still stared at him. "Because women usually seek approval from a man, not another woman."

"Really?"

"I believe so."

He considered that for a few beats. He felt as though she was expecting him to come to some sort of realization about something, but he didn't know what it was. "Are you going to eat anything?" he said finally.

"Are you going to admit when you're wrong?"

He laughed, caught off-guard by the unexpectedness of the question. "I wasn't wrong!"

"But if it ever happens. If the crown prince of Camelot ever makes an error, will he say so?"

He put down his spoon and smiled at her. "You're quite combative this evening, Guinevere."

She looked at the table. "I do not mean to offend. But you did ask me what I was thinking."

"I can see I'll have to be more careful from now on."

She frowned again.

"I'm not serious," he added, pushing her plate across the table to her.

She appeared to relent, using her own spoon to taste the stew, and they finished the meal in relative amity.

* * *

><p>The one window in the inn room was small, open to the air, and let in just enough of the dawn's light to render things visible when Gwen awoke. She lay motionless for a while, since Arthur was still sleeping. The straw pallet underneath her had flattened to the point that it provided almost no cushioning at all. She'd covered it with the quilt, which itself, while not impeccably clean, seemed preferable to sleeping next to something who knew how many bodies had touched. Fresh it most certainly was not.<p>

_But then, it's not as if I've ever been used to fine linens and sumptuous beds_, she thought wryly, gazing at Arthur on his pallet a few feet away. He had a half-scowl on his face as if he was dreaming something unpleasant. She had an irrational desire to crawl over to his side and smooth out his expression, tousle the blond hair. She wondered if she should wake him—though, perhaps, not in that fashion.

The night before had been remarkably free of awkwardness, considering that it had the potential for plenty. They had finished eating, and they were both tired. She had enquired if he did not want to go below to the common room (clarifying that she thought he might want to for information-gathering purposes as much as libatory ones), he had demurred, and said that it was late. And with that, they had retired to their respective pallets, and a little while later he'd said "Good night, Guinevere" in that way she was growing to like. And then for just a moment she'd been embarrassed because how often did one have the occasion to share a bedroom with one's prince? Much less a prince who had an endearing way of saying one's name. But after that she realized how truly tired she was and sleep had come easily.

The light in the room was growing. Gwen pondered how their day would go. Arthur had yesterday mentioned the need to find a farrier or a blacksmith to see to the horse. And then they must be on their way again. She knew he was worried about what direction to take now that they had lost the trail that the other horses had left. But she had faith in him, in his ability to make the right decisions.

He cracked open an eye. Gwen started.

"Morning," he mumbled. "Time to get up?"

"I believe so," she said diplomatically. "Should I leave?"

"Mmm. No, I will. You stay here and— he waved a vague hand.

Gwen was glad to have the chance to complete her ablutions in private. Arthur was not gone long and when he returned, washed and looking fully awake, he announced, "Innkeep says there's no farrier in town right now, but two smiths: Elyan at the north end, and John—"

_Elyan_. "My brother," Gwen whispered. She meant to say it, but it came out half-swallowed.

"Your what?"

She cleared her throat, heart still pounding from the surprise of hearing his name. "My brother learned smithing, from my father, and his name was...is...Elyan. We didn't know...where he was."

"We go north then," Arthur said. "You know it's not necessarily him, Guinevere."

But she knew that it had to be. And yet it seemed so strange to think of him having been (_had_ he been?) here all this time. She had always imagined that, if he was alive, he had gone to foreign lands, across the great seas aboard the kind of ship she'd never seen, but heard stories of.

It did not take long to walk the horses through the town, though they had to pause for more exact directions once or twice. The town was still quiet at this hour of the morning, with yesterday's rain lending a damp, misty quality to the air.

The smithy was situated on the edge of the town proper, where a few smaller cottages and tiny farms straggled along the road going further north. Gwen felt a stab of homesickness when they were met with the familiar sounds and smells of the forge. She slid off her horse and gave the reins to Arthur, the gesture a mute plea, and, thankfully, he understood and stayed back, so that she could walk up, alone, to the forge.

Tom's son stood there, leaning over what looked like an oxen harness and in the five years since Gwen had last seen him, he had, of course, become a man—and yet when she saw him she only remembered the youths they'd been.

She called his name.

He looked over at her, squinting a little, before recognition lit his features. "Gwen...?"

She darted up to him, unmindful of his blackened apron and threw her arms around him, and pretended, just for a few minutes, that he was her father. That it was Tom's own arms closing around her in response. She couldn't tell him what had happened. Not just yet. "Brother," she murmured happily.

He pulled her away, and looked down at her, and across the road at Arthur, waiting with the two horses. "How did you find me?"

"By accident. Arthur—" she stopped in confusion, realizing she should have said "the prince", but unsure if he wanted to remain anonymous to everyone or not. "...Er, my travelling companion's horse tossed a shoe not far from here. We sought shelter in the town last night."

Elyan put a smudged hand to his forehead, shading the light. "That is Arthur. Pendragon. No?"

Of course, he would remember, Gwen realized; Elyan had often come home with tales of watching, from a distance, the slightly younger Arthur training with the king's knights in the fields.

"Yes."

"What are you doing here with _him_?"

"It's, well, it's a long story. What about you, Elyan? Have you been living here until now? Why did you never send word?"

Her brother took a breath, held it for several counts, let it out. "No, I haven't always been here. That is a long story, too. Shouldn't he come over—" He nodded in Arthur's direction. Gwen looked back and saw that Arthur was beginning to look uncomfortable. She raised her hand instinctively to beckon to him and then arrested the movement. One didn't beckon the prince, even if one was on better terms with him lately. She settled for giving him an expectant smile and hoped he would correctly interpret it.

Arthur did, after a moment, because he walked the horses over, looping their leads around the hitching rail where the forge property began, then approached them.

Gwen had an odd feeling of nervousness and, concomitantly, she realized it was deeply important to her that both of them made a good impression on each other. She wanted Arthur to like Elyan, of course, because he was her brother, which meant he shared some part of her. And she wanted Elyan to like Arthur because she knew there was more to Uther's son than she'd initially thought. As Merlin had claimed—though she hadn't completely believed it at the time—the prince of Camelot was, essentially, a good man.

So she was relieved when Arthur gave his easy, naturally charismatic smile and stepped up to grip Elyan's forearm in greeting. "If you are Guinevere's brother, it's good to meet you."

"Welcome to Mercia, my lord." Elyan solemnly, but smilelessly, bowed his head. Gwen felt her heart sink. It hadn't been exactly rude, but wasn't the warmest of responses, either. Arthur's smile faded just a touch; probably he hadn't thought Elyan would know who he was, and thus would treat him on an equal footing. "Your horse requires attention, I hear?"

"Ah. Yes." Arthur looked back at their mounts. "With no farrier in town you must be kept busy."

Elyan inclined his head. "Mostly with workhorses. That is a fine animal."

Gwen intervened before Arthur could expound on the quality of Camelot's stables. "Elyan, may we see inside?"

Her brother brought them within. The adjoining cottage to the forge was small and spare, the utilitarian room of a bachelor, though as tidy as she herself would have kept it. A sleeping space against the far wall, partitioned with a curtain. A solid table and bench. A neatly swept hearth. Gwen looked around and thought of him living here. Had he been lonely? She wanted to know, but it was not the kind of question she could ask. At least not just yet.

Elyan went to get them some tea, rustling around in a side storage room for some more cups. Arthur moved close to her side. "Look," he said, in a low tone. "I want to go back to the mountains, see if I can't pick up the tracks. I'll take your mare. I think you should stay here."

"But—"

"It'll take me less time on my own, and you have much to talk about with your brother, don't you?"

"Yes," Gwen said reluctantly.

"Then it's all right." He reached out, and for a moment she thought he was going to touch her cheek but then he gave her shoulder a quick squeeze instead. "I can find Merlin and Morgana, I know I can, I just need the time to look."

"You will come back...?"

"I promise. By tonight. By the morning, if anything keeps me."

That didn't especially reassure her. There was all manner of things that might delay him. But he clearly was itching to be on his way, and so she followed him outside after a quick word to Elyan. They switched saddles on the horses, and Gwen tied up the last bundle of food for him, fastening it to one of the mare's pack straps.

He looked down at her, giving the mare's neck a confident pat when the animal shifted underneath the weight of the unfamiliar rider and side-stepped to the right. "Tonight, then."

"Yes." Gwen smiled gamely, but unable to help feeling a little like she was being deserted.


	14. Chapter 13

Upon passing through the mountains sometime in the late afternoon, Merlin decided that it was time to find a place to stop. It was the only way to ensure that Arthur eventually caught up with them—and the sooner the better, since the longer the delay, the more angry he was likely to be.

Morgana was faltering, but had not turned around, even once, to look at him on the horse slowly following.

_Why does she have to be so proud? I wouldn't make her beg to ride with me. As crazy as she's been behaving lately, I know there is some kind of human being there. She just needs help_.

They were coming into a deeply green glade, wherein immense trees, their moss-covered roots protruding outwards to nearly a man's height, required navigation around. The hooves of the horse thudded softly against the wet ground.

Before long Morgana flung herself down against one of the tree roots and look back at Merlin, her face ghost-white but with a trace of defiance. "I can't walk any more."

"Fine." He checked the mare, and slid off. "We'll stop."

Tethering the animal to a low-hanging branch, he joined her at the base of the tree. The roots of this particular one were like a group of massive, sculpted arms curving around in a protective embrace, providing both a backdrop and a sheltered overhang. He brought their packs over, nudged Morgana's at her with his foot and pulled out his furs to sit on.

"It's cold," she said. It wasn't, really, but they were both still damp from rain.

"I'll make a fire."

Morgana's expression initially suggested she wished him good luck with that, but altered to one of subtle surprise when he got one—with the aid of a spell—alight and burning. The crackle of familiar orange and red flames was an effective banishment of the growing gloom.

"You know," she said eventually, "I could tell Arthur."

He shrugged. "I could tell him about you."

"It doesn't matter about me." She cocked an eyebrow in that infuriatingly artful way. "I renounce the Pendragon name. I will never return to Camelot of my own accord."

Merlin had been crouching, with a stick to poke the flames but now he dropped it and sat back on his heels. "What is it that you _want_ so badly, anyway?"

"I wish to be free. Unencumbered. Unenslaved."

"You really have no idea what you're talking about." He shook his head, feeling that this conversation was going to go nowhere, just like the last one.

Morgana stared into the fire, but said, "Go on," in a tone that suggested she was so bored anyway that listening to what he had to say couldn't possibly affect her.

"You—have—_everything_. You're young." Well, they had that in common. "You're rich."

He tossed a bit of tree bark at the fire, with slight bitterness now. He was thinking of his mother suddenly. In what ways would their lives have been different, if they hadn't had to scrape so much back in Ealdor, before he came to work for Gaius, and subsequently Arthur?

He glanced at Morgana and concluded without really meaning to: "You're beautiful."

She gave a surprised but still somehow delicate snort.

He felt his face heat. "I didn't mean it like that."

"Like what?"

"Like a compliment."

"Why not?" Now she looked irritated. Which was still preferable to looking supercilious.

"Because—what difference does it make when you just...you _have_ all that and you want to give it up to live in a cave, or something."

"Really, Merlin. Not everywhere outside of Camelot is a 'cave'."

"I mean one of your own making. It's always going to be like that for you. Because you don't trust anyone." He got up, restless, and paced a little. He was hungry—they hadn't eaten since the morning—and he couldn't see how he was going to come up with any food, not when he had to keep an eye on her. Tying her up would be unnecessarily humiliating when it wasn't as if she were an actual criminal or even his prisoner, and he didn't doubt she'd be able to get free of that anyway, considering what had happened to the shelter.

"At least I am not a fool who trusts _everyone,_" Morgana retorted silkily.

He refused to be insulted by this. He spread his hands. "You are right. I would rather think the best of most people."

"Even me?" She arched an eyebrow. "Even now?"

"Yes."

"Come here." Morgana sat up and beckoned. Her hood had fallen from her shoulders, her hair tumbled around them and her eyes were lustrous in the firelight. And she looked like trouble. Very compelling trouble, but trouble nonetheless.

He wasn't sure what to say. Or even what to do. He hesitated, on the other side of the fire. Glanced to his left. Back at her.

She was really easy to look at.

"Come on, Merlin, you are the sorcerer, aren't you?"

"And you're the witch."

"I don't have your kind of powers." She shook her head beguilingly. He realized she was talking to him the way she had in her rooms that night he had brought her the mixture of betony. As if he were an intriguing new friend. He knew it was manipulative, that it was not without guile, and yet it was nearly impossible not to respond to.

"Come sit by me again." She patted the fur at her side.

He thought about asking if she still had her dagger. Decided that wouldn't give any legitimacy to his claim that he was prepared to think the best of her. He came, and gingerly sat down as he was bidden.

"I'm not so...bad, am I?"

_Bad_. He mulled the word over, wondering what it meant, when she said it.

"Not a terrible person," Morgana prompted.

"No," he agreed quietly. Reluctantly, for some reason.

"Merlin. Look at me."

He did. Mostly out of the corner of his eye.

Morgana shifted towards him, enough so that she could reach out with her hand and touch his jaw, turning his face towards hers. And as their eyes met, for just an instant he felt a whiplash of pain—she was showing or telling him something, it was like the headache only far more intense and brief. He blinked.

And then she leaned even closer, her lips slightly parted and he didn't want (_really wanted) _to meet them with his own, but it was happening. He expected that to hurt, too, he was even wincing in preparation for the jolt, but all there was, was Morgana's warm mouth and the pounding of her heartbeat, no that was _his_ heartbeat. And for a few seconds, or perhaps minutes, it was nothing but good.

And then he thought wildly _what am I doing, what am I_ doing. _She hates me. Well perhaps not that, but she doesn't_ like _me. Does she...?_

_So confused._

_Stop kissing her._

He broke away and breathed out hard through his mouth because it felt like he hadn't been breathing at all the whole time, not that there was anything wrong with his nose.

Morgana was still leaning towards him, staring with those amazing eyes.

He didn't know when it had gotten dark, but all around them, it had, with only the glow from the fire highlighting their faces. It was night, and they were alone in the forest. And he didn't know whether she was his friend or his enemy, his prisoner or his mistress.

And he _really_ didn't know what he was supposed to do next.

* * *

><p>"So," Elyan said, setting the promised tea in front of Gwen and sliding beside her onto the bench. "This long story you mentioned..?"<p>

"I'm not sure where it begins." Gwen ran her fingers over the simply carved wooden cup. "Elyan...I wish I had better news to bring you, but a few days ago, following King Uther's sentencing, Father was put to death." She said it in a rush.

"What happened?" Her brother's tone was even, giving nothing away of his feelings.

"He was suspected of consorting with a practising sorcerer. The king has been ruthless this summer in his pursuit of those who employ magic, Elyan. Many people have died, many more have been affected."

"There's been talk, even here. I never thought..." He fell silent, staring at the table. "I'm sorry I wasn't there with you, little sister. You must have felt...deserted."

"It has been hard for everyone," Gwen reiterated, though her throat swelled at the way he called her _little sister _so easily, the way he'd used to. "This past year I've been maid to the lady Morgana, the king's ward, if you remember. She urged me to leave with her after what happened. She's been deeply affected by it all; she has estranged herself from the king."

"So where is she?"

"We're looking for her, and another friend who's gone missing. The prince and I."

"You called him Arthur, before."

"It _is_ his name." Gwen took a too-quick sip of her tea, and choked a little.

Elyan's mouth quirked. "You are close enough to him to use his name?"

"No. Yes. He asked me to. He's not like his father, Elyan. Really he...cares about us. He wants to help."

"Mm." The grunt was noncommittal. "As long as you don't forget he is still the king's son."

"I'm not likely to forget that," Gwen said, with some asperity. Although, secretly she knew there had been at least a few moments over the past few days when she had. Or, at least, she had been aware of it but it hadn't seemed to matter that much.

Not that she was prepared to say so to her newly-found older brother.

"And so, what about you? Elyan—why did you never send word? We waited for it. At least...I waited."

"I'm sorry. I think I was waiting, too. For the right time. I felt that there had to be something certain in my life, something purposeful to say." He was quiet for a while. Gwen didn't know how much he was willing to talk about the past, but she needed to know these things. She had just assumed that lack of news meant something had happened to him.

"When we were told you were here, I was so surprised. I never expected to find you taking up Father's trade."

"It was never my intention," Elyan said. A slight bitterness twisted his handsome features. "For a while, I wandered. And was happy enough doing so, though wandering is, as you can imagine, not profitable. Then I met a girl. But she wouldn't consider me, not without an income, or a place to live."

_Of course_, Gwen thought, yet feeling sympathy for him.

"So I followed her back to her hometown and apprenticed myself, to the smith whose forge this was. He was elderly, and passed away more than a year ago."

"And...the girl?"

"She chose another man anyway."

"I'm sorry."

Elyan glanced at her and shrugged. "I got used to having a roof over my head, coin, and food; maybe it was always meant to be so."

Gwen thought of him having a wife, and a child or two by now—her nephews or nieces—and wondered if it really was fated to be this way. He sounded resigned but not happy. Still, it was true that with a trade and a home he had much more than most. Their father, she knew, would have been proud of this conclusion for Elyan.

Her brother rose, took and re-filled her cup from the kettle by the hearth. "If the lady Morgana has left the castle, what of your position? Will she find another for you?"

"We have to find _her_, first."

"But you will return to the city?"

"I don't really know." She avoided his gaze. It felt impossible to commit to any future right now. Each moment came, and passed, and she was no further to knowing anything about what the next ones would hold.

"If this needs to be said, Gwen, you would always be welcome to stay here with me."

"Thank you, Elyan. That means more to me than I can say, truly."

For an instant, Gwen tried to picture that new life. A quiet country existence, far removed from the bustle and ceremony that had filled her days at Camelot. She would spend her days cooking and caring for herself and her brother. Perhaps find some sewing work in the town to fill the afternoons. Perhaps even, one day, meet a kind-hearted Mercian farmer, if such existed.

Was there anything wrong with such a life? No, certainly not. But something prodded at her memory, the comment Merlin had made to her the previous summer: _I feel as though you're meant for something more than the rest of us, Gwen_.

Foolishness, surely.

Also very foolish that for some reason the hypothetical Mercian farmer was blond and blue-eyed.

"I should see to the prince's horse now," Elyan said, "if you're all right here. You could lie down for a while. You must be tired from the travel." He started for the door and then checked himself, looking back at her quizzically. "How long had the two of you been separated from your mistress? Alone?"

"Not long," Gwen demurred.

Elyan seemed as though he might say something else but changed his mind. He patted the side of the door frame and walked out.

She let out a breath of relief and drank the last of her tea.


	15. Chapter 14

Morgana was dreaming.

Yet it was no kind of dream she'd had recently. There were only muted colours, soft sounds. She was wandering around in a sort of yellow field, wearing a dress that felt like violets. Or perhaps it smelled like violets; she couldn't tell. There was a brook with the most crystalline water she'd ever seen, that she stopped to drink from, and crazily enough it tasted like sparkling mead on her tongue. She was laughing. Or were children laughing? There was a boy with Merlin's golden eyes saying her name as though he knew her, a little brown-haired, pale-skinned boy. She had a powerful feeling she knew who he was. Knew who he should be. And yet she didn't.

_Was_ she dreaming? There were no screams, no darknesses. Perhaps she was only just falling asleep. Or about to wake up. She tried to move and found her body weighed down, languorous.

Something smelled like burning flesh.

She opened her eyes and stared out at the sky, whose blue brightness was studded with clouds.

Merlin was crouched by a small campfire, cooking (what her brief reluctant glance identified as a skinned rabbit, and therefore the source of the smell) with the aid of a spit.

She lifted her arms from her body and found them unfettered. But they both seemed incredibly heavy.

Morgana twisted around. The tree they'd camped under last night was still overhead, providing a leafy canopy through which the sun occasionally pierced. Her cloak was around her.

Merlin threw her an affable glance. "Morning. Well, lunchtime now, really."

She regarded him through narrowed eyes which hadn't quite adjusted to the sunlight yet. After the events of last night, she'd thought he might be somewhat more meek. Not that anything untoward had happened. Well, beyond the kiss—which she congratulated herself on having nicely orchestrated—and which she thought would have done a good job at putting him in his place. Make him realize that if he wanted to play with her, she was more than prepared to keep the game interesting. And uncomfortable.

Interesting for her, uncomfortable for him. That was her goal for the time being.

But right now Merlin didn't look uncomfortable. Rather he looked quite at ease as he pulled parts of meat from the spit and tasted them for doneness.

"This," he announced indistinctly, to no one in particular, "is delicious."

"Disgusting," Morgana said.

Merlin looked at her as if he'd forgotten she was there. "Aren't you hungry?"

"I don't eat meat," she said coolly.

"Really?" He stared at her. "Now see..." He waved the remaining bit of spitted meat in the air—"I did not know that."

"Hooray for us getting to know each other," she said, wondering if anyone had ever died from being attacked with sarcasm.

"How did you sleep?" He cocked his head at her.

"Strangely, well." Morgana looked down at her arm, her eyes drawn to the scar, so recently put there that she was not yet used to it. She pulled the cloak back around herself.

He was still gazing at her with that inexplicably cheerful expression.

"What—?" It took her a few moments to figure it out. "Did you—did you _drug_ me?"

"Sleeping spell," Merlin admitted. "Never tried it before. Didn't know if it would work or not."

"If it would _work_!"

"I had to find us something to eat. And I thought you might steal the horse and run off, if I just left you."

"I'm not a thief," Morgana said, icily. Though the idea had occurred to her.

She was, in fact, hungry, but would have stabbed herself in the eye with the dagger in her boot before admitting it. If that was how he was going to be today, all casual and chirpy, pretending that last night hadn't happened, she was fine with that.

Fumbling around for her water sack, she found it and twisted it open, drinking long from its leathery contents. She put it down, unsatisfied. She got, awkwardly, to her feet. Her limbs still felt weighted down. _Oh, your spell _worked_ all right. My body is still asleep._

"Going somewhere?"

"I have needs," she said, giving him a saccharinely sweet smile, "to which I must attend."

"Ah. By all means, attend away."

_Low-born creature. He knows I can't go anywhere. I'd probably fall over three steps out of this moss swamp._ Morgana tried to walk in an orderly fashion around the tree roots to where she might find some privacy. It took her some time.

By the time she returned, Merlin had finished off the rabbit. "I'm sorry," he said. "There's nothing for you to eat."

"I dare say I'll survive."

"Maybe Arthur will bring something."

She frowned. "You mean..."

"We're going to wait here for him to find us. I'm sure he will, eventually. He's a pretty determined fellow, as you know. Besides, I left markings yesterday."

"I thought you—"

"You thought I was actually taking you somewhere?"

"Yes, otherwise we might just as well have stayed in the mountains, he would have caught up sooner!"

"True," Merlin said, "but I thought you needed the hike."

"You _what_?" Morgana felt rage take hold of her and before she had a chance to realize what was happening, the campfire shot up in a spiralling whirlwind of immense proportions. She felt the heat of it even from where she was standing, and Merlin tumbled backwards out of the way, his arm flung up against the blaze. That, at least, was satisfying. The mare whinnied in terror.

And then, because she didn't know how to corral or maintain the fierce burst of emotion, the flames subsided back to their original, modest containment within the circle of stones Merlin had placed the night before.

Morgana shivered all over with fury and impotent exasperation. Why did _she_ have to be the one cursed with this particular type of magic, so resistant to control? Why was a lowly manservant (who, as far as she knew, had no more training or learning than she) gifted with a true sorcerer's powers? It was not fair. And not only was it not fair, but it wasn't right.

Merlin climbed to his feet, staring at the fire a little longer. Then he came over to her and offered a tentative smile. "Did—did you actually will that to happen or was it like before, did it just—"

"If I could _will_ it to happen," Morgana snarled, "that would have been your head."

* * *

><p>A host of scavenger birds aided Arthur in the unpleasant discovery of the carcass of Morgana's horse, halfway down the cliff slope. He scoured the rest of the area thoroughly, but found no other evidence. The rain had obliterated any tracks or prints that might have been there. He puzzled over the rock for a while; it appeared to have been torn with force from the surrounding cliff-side but how, certainly it was far too large for either Morgana or Merlin to have moved. He made a mental note to think about that later, and returned to the cliff path to look for the rest of the trail.<p>

Fortunately, Merlin had had the sense to start leaving him one. Coming down from the mountain there was a shallow basin in the rocks which made a natural waterhole to let the horse drink; and there Arthur saw a bit of fabric attached to the scrubby branches. There were several such markings for the next hour of riding, and after that he was able to see hoofprints on the ground in places again, which meant the rain had to have ceased.

From there, it was easy to follow the trail. Still, he was rather surprised by the intensity of the relief he felt when, within a mossy forest, smoke curling upwards from a dying fire led him directly to the two he'd been hoping to find. The mare was tethered in the distance, and Morgana and Merlin both seemed unharmed, though Morgana looked very out of sorts.

"Took you long enough," Merlin called, coming over to take Gwen's mare by the head and giving her a quick pat.

Arthur dismounted. "What the devil did you come out all this way for? She all right? How's the arm?"

Morgana was sitting bolt upright against the base of a tree, cloak pulled over her head.

"She's in a mood," Merlin said, emphasizing the last word with widened eyes. "And, she's pretty hungry. But otherwise fine. Gwen's, uh, medicine seemed to work on that wound."

"I saw the horse."

Merlin grimaced. "I'll tell you what happened later. Where _is_ Gwen?"

Arthur handed him the reins. "Town north of here, with her brother."

"You found her brother?"

"Apparently."

"Does she mean to stay with him?"

"I don't know! Stop asking so many questions." Arthur ran a hand through his hair. On the ride in from the town he had given considerable thought to Guinevere's situation. It seemed fairly certain that she would want to be with her only relative from now on. He couldn't see her wanting to follow Morgana around the countryside indefinitely—that had only been a temporary reaction, normal perhaps but not a long-term solution, upon the death of her father.

The problem was, as far as he was concerned, she belonged back at Camelot. Doing...whatever she'd been doing, before all this ridiculous business of running away started.

He wasn't really sure why he felt so strongly about where she should be; all he knew was that Guinevere was a capable, intelligent girl and _didn't_ belong in some country forge in some Mercian backwater. _Getting married eventually and having a passel of brats with some ruffian mercenary who leaves her at home while he goes out on raids—_

—he realized Merlin was staring at him. Clearing his throat, he strode over to Morgana. "Let's get going."

She looked up at him with undisguised dislike. "Where's Gwen?"

"Back in the _town_. She's fine! Could everyone stop asking about Guinevere and could we get a move on? Put that fire out properly, Merlin. Morgana, get up."

Morgana rose, unwillingly.

"Two horses and three people," Merlin said, panting as he raced around to extinguish the fire and bring the other mare over. "How are we doing this?"

"I'm not walking," Morgana said. "I suppose you will have to drag me along."

"Nonsense." Arthur swung back up and settled into the saddle. "You can ride with me."

"I'd rather ride with the devil himself, son of Pendragon."

"Fine. Then it's with Merlin." He shrugged, vaguely amused by her venomous tone. "If you think you can manage to hang on to her," he added over his shoulder, to his manservant.

Merlin chuckled a little oddly. Arthur threw him a second glance, hoping he wasn't getting cheeky. He had enough to handle without both of them getting silly on him.

The mid-afternoon light was still high and Arthur was confident they'd have plenty of time to get back to the town before dark, thus enabling him to keep his promise to Guinevere. Then, as long as her brother was amenable, they'd spend the night there, find another mount for Morgana, re-stock their supplies in the town and start the journey back to Camelot the following morning. Hopefully they would be back before his father started sending out cohorts of soldiers to search for them.

They'd had to leave the saddle behind; it did not accommodate two riders. The only option was to leave the saddle mats on to provide some padding.

Seated, Merlin reached out to help Morgana up. He wasn't sure how this was going to work. If she hated Arthur, she certainly didn't hate him any less. Especially not after the spell-casting that had kept her soundly sleeping while he went hunting for his breakfast.

He was still quite pleased with the way that had worked, however. Even if she wouldn't forgive him for it.

Morgana took his extended forearm and scrambled, rather awkwardly, atop the horse. She was agile, and wearing trousers, but there were no stirrups to step into. The mare shifted in protest as they both squirmed into some sort of seating together.

Arthur was eyeing them. "You two need a hand?"

Merlin tried to focus on keeping the reins short, distracted by the pressure and motion of Morgana's body behind him. It was impossible to avoid touching. Perhaps he should have made her sit in front of him, where he could at least see her. "Erm, we can manage," he said, a little breathlessly.

Morgana put her arms around him. "Let's go," she said, into his ear. "If we're going."

Arthur gave them his look of indulgent forbearance, and clucked to his horse. "Try not to wander off," he called as he went ahead.

Riding double on a saddle-less horse for any length of time was something of a feat, requiring a slower pace, greater concentration, and more stamina. Before very long Merlin thought he might rather walk. Morgana's grip around his waist was snug, and not uncomfortable (except for the fact that it kept returning his thoughts to their kiss last night), but every so often she shifted back with a jolt and he was worried she was going to fall off. Or perhaps jump off. Over his shoulder he said: "Are you still—"

"What?" she mumbled against his shoulder.

"Sleepy." He didn't want to reference the spell as long as Arthur, riding ahead of them, was in earshot.

She was silent. He shifted his elbow backwards just to nudge her. It encountered something soft. He could feel his face heating.

"I may faint from hunger," she remarked.

"Right, I forgot about that." Chagrined, he twisted slightly around. "Uh...what about water?"

"I have none left."

Merlin wanted to shake her. She was so determined to be alone, to never ask for help. It actually scared him, the thought of what she would let happen to her before she would request assistance. "Here." He passed her his waterbag, which he'd filled up freshly that morning while hunting for the rabbit.

The horse jolted them gently together. Merlin slowed the animal to a walk. Morgana unwrapped one arm from around him and drank thirstily from the sack, tilting it up.

Arthur, some way ahead, checked back and came cantering in their direction, looking irritated. "What's taking so long? I want to get there by nightfall."

"Morgana hasn't eaten in a while," Merlin explained, feeling guilty.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Well, if you had told me. I _have_ food." He untwisted a bundle from the pack straps and tossed it in their direction. Merlin caught it adroitly; months of having had the prince throw things at him had improved his ability considerably. Morgana dug open the bundle and without a word of complaint fell upon its contents.

"You know," he said to her, once they had resumed following Arthur, "you really need to ask when you want something."

Around a final mouthful, and still managing to make it sound ladylike, Morgana replied—"I want you to walk. Preferably, behind the horse, where you belong."

He tried to laugh. "I was wondering where that sweet temper of yours had gotten to. I see the food restored it."

"You ought not to jest with me, _Merlin,_" she said, into his ear again_._ "Arthur may not be my biggest defender at the moment but he would have your head on a pikestaff if I told him what you did last night."

"I don't know about that," he replied, deliberately light because he knew it thwarted her. "I think he might wait at least till we got back to Camelot."

"In which case you _still_ don't have very much longer to live, vexing lad."

He tapped the mare's sides with his boots and she shot forwards in response. Morgana hugged him reflexively in order not to be thrown, and he heard her hissing through her teeth as her arms wrapped tightly around him again.


	16. Chapter 15

Gwen rested for a while in the afternoon as Elyan had suggested she do, but found she could not stay down for long. She expressed her desire to make something for his supper (and, though she was trying not to hope too much, it would be nice to have hot food on hand for when Arthur—ideally accompanied by Merlin and Morgana—returned).

Elyan gave her some coins and told her to get whatever she needed from the market in town. He asked if she wanted him to accompany her, but Gwen declined, as it was only a short walk away. Having passed through there that morning, she felt competent to go on her own.

She fastened her cloak around her shoulders and at the waist so that it covered most of her bedraggled dress. It was preferable to appear a respectable maidservant, rather than a travelling stranger. She tucked the coins in a tiny bag and put it in an inner pocket of her cloak, promising, "I won't be long," to her brother as she headed out the door, and down the roadway back towards the town.

The afternoon sun was warm but not too much so; still, Gwen longed to undo her cloak as she walked. She fanned herself with the leather bag she'd brought to contain her shopping. A few children, who had been scavenging fruit fallen from the overhanging trees into the ditches, looked up as she walked by, their faces stained and plummy. She smiled at the oldest girl, thinking how little they knew of how fleeting their youth was.

But the town seemed free of youngsters roaming the street, for the most part, or of many women. So Gwen kept her head down and her walk brisk and businesslike, the way Tom had always taught her.

She bought some summer vegetables from an old woman halfway through the market. The vegetables were perhaps not the freshest on display, but Gwen was captured by the weariness in the old woman's movements as she stacked her small pile that she had probably carried herself, miles from an outlying farm. Gwen paid her a little more than she asked, and moved on in search of meat. Here was where one had to be more particular; there were many tricks employed to disguise a piece of meat of dubious age or procurement. Gwen, well familiar with these dishonest techniques, passed over several places at once.

One fellow was particularly vehement that his products were beyond criticism. Gwen politely declined but he continued to call to her even after she had passed by. Even in Camelot she occasionally encountered this type of mild harassment; it was more common once a seller was convinced one actually had hard coin, ready to spend, on one's person.

"Not from around here, eh?" the stallkeeper hollered after her.

Gwen knew she should keep walking—especially since his call had already attracted the attention of several passersby—but something compelled her to pause. She turned back and tilted her head. "Do you mean, good sir, that people from around here usually settle for inferior meat past its prime?"

The man's brows clouded over. "This is from a doe I shot myself this morning!"

"I would not call you a liar," Gwen said, smiling brightly. "But that meat has been sitting a week if it's been sitting a day. Perhaps someone switched it on you while your back was turned?"

There were a few snickers in the general vicinity from people who had paused to listen to their interaction.

"Look here, lass," the man began. Gwen suspected he had wanted to use a far less favourable epithet.

_I should really be going. Whatever possessed me to bait him? But he didn't have to be so persistent, just because he knows I have money._

Someone touched her elbow. She tensed—one hand was holding her shopping bag, the other was within her cloak gripping her small dagger, and she had no qualms about using the weapon on anyone who touched her—but she looked back and saw an non-threatening face and the warmest pair of brown eyes ever.

And she was, for a moment, completely distracted.

"Look here, my fine fellow," the man behind her said, mimicking in only the slightest manner, "the lady does not seem interested, so why don't you let her be on her way?"

"Sooner the better!" the stallkeeper grumbled. "A'slandering my fresh goods."

The stranger exerted very gentle pressure on Gwen's arm, steering her several steps down the road. Gwen straightened, not so much to get away from him as to be able to see him properly.

"I did have the situation quite in hand," she said. Literally. She still clutched her knife.

"I am sure that you did," he said. He seemed earnest. His eyes were just as nice upon closer inspection. He had dark shaggy hair and was clean but dressed poorly, no nobleman. But he didn't seem a farmer, either.

"Thank you," Gwen added, not wanting to appear ungrateful.

"I am not from around here myself. It is just that the people, so far, seem a rather ill-tempered lot." The man looked about. There were still those who eyed them as they passed. One individual gave them a particularly dirty look. He looked back at her. "See what I mean?"

Gwen pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. "There does seem a disproportionate number of malcontents?"

"Precisely." He smiled now, too. "I realize we have only just met, but perhaps I could see you home? As we're both new here I'd feel better leaving you safely at your doorstep."

The words themselves, Gwen thought, were the sort of thing any girl with half a brain would know better than to listen to. Still, there was a simple sincerity in his tone that tugged at her.

"I'm afraid 'home' does not exist for me at the moment," she said.

"But you must have somewhere to stay, surely." A furrow of concern in his forehead.

"Oh yes. I am staying with my older brother."

"That is good. This doesn't seem the place for a lady to be alone, if you don't mind me saying so."

Gwen opened her mouth to say that she was not a lady, then closed it. What matter did it make, when in all likelihood they would never encounter each other again.

"I do not stop here long," the man continued, and then, with a peculiar note of pride—"I am on my way to Camelot, to become one of the king's knights."

"I wish you well...Who may I thank for his concern for my safety?"

"Lancelot du Lac." He executed a quick bow.

Gwen performed a complementary curtsy and backed away. "You are very kind...Goodbye." She had been timing her departure to coincide with the arrival of a fruit wagon rolling briskly down the street and as it passed she darted out in front of it, so that it was a barrier should the would-be knight attempt to catch up with her.

She thought she heard him call "Wait!" after her but the waggoner yelled in irritation at the same time, and then she was lost among the others, hurrying back through the narrow side streets, anxious to return to the safety of the forge.

It wasn't until she'd gotten back inside Elyan's small living space that Gwen realized she had neglected to purchase any meat, good or bad. She stood undecided for a few moments.

"Find everything you need?" Elyan appeared in the doorway.

Gwen turned around and looked at him. "I forgot the meat. And I meant to make bread, but I see you have no flour of any kind."

"I'll go back for you. I wanted a chance to try out Pendragon's newly-shod horse, anyway." He gave her a smile that was almost mischievous.

"Elyan—" Gwen shook her head at the boyish light in his eyes. "Be quick."

While he was gone she busied herself cleaning and preparing the vegetables for what would become tonight's stew. She hummed as she moved about the area, but her thoughts kept returning to the unusual interaction with the man who called himself Lancelot. Maybe she _would_ see him again, if he were going to Camelot, and since she still did not know if Arthur intended to require her to go back there...

By early evening, Gwen and Elyan were both hungry and Gwen decided not to wait indefinitely for the return of the others. The stew was bubbling, bread was baking slowly in the fire, permeating the cottage with a yeasty scent—and so they had a leisurely meal together. Gwen tried to share, in a light-hearted way, some more of the details of the past few years of her and Tom's life with Elyan. She told of her service with the village seamstress, of the connection that had led to her employment at the castle; she told stories of coming to know both Merlin and Morgana.

"It sounds as if you were happy there," Elyan observed, at the end of one anecdote.

Though it was not a question, she felt a need to answer. "I...I was. I didn't think I was going to be, but I felt, after a while, as if I'd always been there. As if I _belonged_."

"And now?"

"Now I don't know. I don't know if it is a place I want to be while the current king is ruling."

"Treasonous words," Elyan said mildly. "What about the future king?"

"Things will be different then."

"Are you certain of that?"

"I believe in the prince's love for Camelot," Gwen replied softly.

She thought he might mock such an observation but he was silent for a while after that, then he rose and, assuming a more practical air, said: "Well, I'd better stable the horses and give them grain for the night. Thank you for dinner."

"You are welcome, brother."

Gwen tidied the table, returned the stew to the hearth and checked the bread to ensure it would be ready for tomorrow, then swept up the floor. She found she was listening attentively for hoofbeats on the road outside and had to try to force herself to think of something else.

She hunted around until she discovered a few extra blankets and made a pallet for herself near the fire, then lay down, tucking her cloak behind her head as a pillow, and prepared to wait.

_Arthur said he might not return till morning. I don't think I shall sleep at all until they are back. Or until he is back to let me know what he has found_.

* * *

><p>The horses were quite tired and had to be walked for the last leg of the journey as twilight fell over the countryside, but Arthur didn't mind now that they were very close to Elyan's forge. When they saw the candlelight from the window, he sent Morgana in to see Guinevere (assuming they would have plenty to talk about), and told Merlin to attend to the horses.<p>

Elyan came out to show them the spacious stable, designed to accommodate a number of other animals. It currently held Elyan's own ride, and his stallion, now properly shod, Arthur noticed, as he gave it a quick inspection.

"There is plenty of grain," Elyan pointed to the trough, "and then—Merlin, was it?—can bring up water from the brook at the field edge."

"Your hospitality is appreciated," Arthur said. "Thank you." He pulled off his gloves, repressing a yawn of mild fatigue.

"It is for my sister's sake that I am assisting you."

"Regardless," Arthur said, refusing to take offence at the calm announcement. If things were different and it was Elyan's father who'd been responsible for his father's death, he couldn't imagine being inclined towards friendliness, either.

"There is not room for all of us in the cottage. You and the king's ward will want to sleep indoors overnight?"

"Nonsense. The women should stay within. Merlin will keep an eye on the horses, and I will watch the front door." Arthur had no intention of letting either Morgana or Guinevere go unguarded, Morgana because he suspected she still wanted to flee, Guinevere because they were, after all, still in lawless Mercia.

Elyan shrugged. "If that's how you wish it. Then I'll trade with you at midnight."

Arthur decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and assume he was good with a sword. Generally blacksmiths could claim brute strength if not agility, but Elyan, although tall and well-muscled, wasn't beefy. He did have a quiet self-possession that inspired confidence.

Once the horses were rubbed down, fed, watered and stabled, Elyan bade Arthur and Merlin come in to eat. Morgana, sitting by the fire, was saying something to Guinevere but cut herself off when the men entered. Guinevere went immediately to greet Merlin but her eyes tracked to Arthur and she gave him a happy smile that was just as gratifying as any spoken thanks.

Arthur sat down on the bench, stretching out his legs and feeling an almost patriarchal pride in having the four of them (and Elyan, who it was hard not to think of as one of his citizens yet) all together in the same space again. Morgana didn't look happy, of course, and Elyan was noncommittal, but Guinevere and Merlin were both beaming and that was sufficient to keep the mood in the room light.

Guinevere hurried then to fill bowls with stew, and plates with warm bread, saying how hungry they must all be.

"It smells good," Arthur said, when she set his in front of him. Merlin, having slid into the bench next to him, was already devouring his portion like a ravening wilddeoren.

Guinevere raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

He smiled, looking away for a minute, not having thought she would reference the first dinner in the woods, but for some reason, it pleased him. "Yes, really...Guinevere."

She tucked hair behind her ear self-consciously and Arthur noticed that Elyan was watching them, an inscrutable expression on the blacksmith's face. He directed his attention to the food, made short work of it and thanked Guinevere for its preparation.

Once finished the food, he stood up and addressed the others. "Tomorrow morning," he said, using the stentorian voice he always employed on his knights when there was an unsavoury or dangerous task to complete, "all four of us return to Camelot."

This announcement was met with silence.

"Does no one have anything to say about that?"

"Excellent plan, sire," Merlin volunteered.

Arthur frowned at him. "Besides you."

"I do not see why," Morgana said violently, "I must be returned to a place I do not wish to be. I am no child. Nor am I a criminal. I have done nothing wrong."

He let that sit for a few moments, giving its impact a chance to settle. Because after all, it was essentially true.

_On the other hand, she knows perfectly well that not even a servant can leave the royal household without permission, much less the king's ward run off in the middle of the night._

"It is not up to me," he said, slowly, aware of all eyes on him. "You must be brought back to my father and tell him, to his face, what it is you object to so strenuously. There is no other way, Morgana. Anything else makes you an outlaw and he will have you hunted until the end of time. You _know_ this."

She was hugging her knees by the fire and he realized, after staring at her across the short stretch of room, that she was actually shaking, as if scared. It didn't make any sense. He didn't think Uther would do anything more to her than have her confined for a period of time, her movements watched—after which there _would_, eventually, be forgiveness, if Morgana could just stop being so damn prideful long enough to soften him. He knew his father had a soft spot for her; she just rarely gave him a chance to display it.

It was frustrating and he wanted to yell at her not to be so stupid, that she could obtain Uther's approval with the slightest effort and they were back to normal, back to an easy life. Did she have any idea, indulged princess that she'd become, what the alternative was?

Guinevere was wiping the wooden bowls out with a cloth and stacking them, soundlessly, on the table. She looked troubled. Merlin looked fidgety and nervous. Elyan, blithely unconcerned but interested.

"What about Gwen?" Morgana said suddenly, indicating Guinevere with a jerk of her head. "Why does she have to return? Hasn't she suffered enough? Why wouldn't you let her stay here with her brother?"

There was silence again while Arthur tried to frame his answer. At last he said, "I would prefer that Guinevere be free to make her own decisions, especially under the circumstances. Yet she is also a member of the royal household."

"But you don't mean to make her face the king?"

"No, I do not."

Morgana's eyes widened. "That is not fair. Then why must she come back at all?"

Arthur caught Guinevere's hand, halting the motion of it as she scrubbed at a nonexistent spot on the tabletop. "Tell them what you told me."

Her eyes remained downcast; she did not look at Morgana, Merlin or her brother, but she said steadfastly, "I promised, as a citizen of Camelot, I would return if the prince required it. As he says, I am still—strictly speaking—part of the royal household."

"You were engaged for a position which no longer exists!" Morgana reminded her.

"Nevertheless." Guinevere gently detached her hand from Arthur's; he hadn't realized he was still hanging onto it. He appreciated that she was standing up for her choice, so that he didn't have to be autocratic.

Yet, the set of her shoulders told him she felt assailed, and he wanted to help without it seeming completely obvious that he was defending her, but wasn't quite certain how.

"I don't understand you," Morgana said, a savage bitterness to her tone. "We discussed this."

"Perhaps I feel differently now. Arthur is right, Morgana—"

"_Arthur?"_

Guinevere folded the cloth into tight, precise squares, pressing it against her apron.

Merlin said, in an undertone to no one, "Why yes, I would _love_ the last piece of bread."

"So you two have been talking. And have come to some kind of understanding?"

Arthur disliked the implication in Morgana's tone but it was so subtle that he was at a loss to refute it.

"Maybe you are even friends now," she persisted, with increasing mockery. "The prince and the serving girl. How...quaint."

"I thought that you and _I_ were friends, Morgana. I cannot believe you would talk to me like this." Guinevere's voice was slightly unsteady.

"I thought that we were friends as well, yet that was before you made an alliance with him behind my back!"

"You suddenly disappeared from our campsite—and there is no alliance," Guinevere argued wearily.

"Enough." Arthur delivered the single word with a considerable amount of granite. It was effective. "I have heard what everyone has to say. The discussion period is now over."

Merlin coughed, quite a bit too ostentatiously. Arthur shot him a glance that both of them knew meant: say_ a word and you'll be scouring the floor of the royal stables with a handbrush for the rest of your natural-born life._

"It is getting late," Elyan interposed, after a polite pause. "Perhaps, sire, we should turn in."

Arthur nodded to him. But then realized that their current plan for sleeping arrangements no longer seemed feasible. It would have to be reorganized, but how?

He made the decision quickly, as he usually did. "Elyan, this is your house, you and your sister stay here. We will keep watch tonight in the stables."

"As you say."

Arthur gestured at Merlin to get Morgana out—he adroitly leaped to do as he was bidden, but the latter rose and stalked out before he could actually lay hands on her. Elyan laid more wood on the fire, and Arthur paused in the doorway for a moment since Guinevere had hailed him.

She came with several blankets in her arms. "These are all there are," she said. "Please take them...it will be warm tonight, but straw is not pleasant to lie on."

"We'll be fine," he said, but he took the blankets from her slowly, prolonging the moment, hoping that she understood that he was grateful, in a way he was unable to say, for her earlier declaration.

"Good night," she said, softly.

"Good night, Guinevere," he answered. "Bolt the door."


	17. Chapter 16

_Stables stink._

Of old iron, sweaty horses, and dung.

Morgana wrinkled her nose against the odor. It was an inescapable fact, she supposed, but she didn't have to enjoy it. She wouldn't have minded spending the night under the same roof as the horses so much if she didn't also have to share it with Arthur and Merlin, two of her least favorite people at the moment.

The barn was far longer than the cottage itself, with space for at least six animals and an open area with barrels of grain, stacked haybales, and farming supplies arranged neatly against the far wall. It was here that they were to sleep. Morgana sat, rigid, against a bare section of the wall, her cloak drawn up around her. She had no intention of nodding off.

Merlin was in the stablebox with his mare, patting her nose and murmuring horse-ish things at her. Occasionally he glanced over the top of the box at Morgana, with an almost apologetic expression. Perhaps he had the decency to realize she shouldn't be forced to sleep in a stable, not that it mattered any when it was what Arthur had decided. Still, Arthur had to sleep at some point during the night, and Morgana was fairly confident that she could outwit Merlin if he was left on guard and, due to Arthur's presence, unable to use magic to stop her.

"Here."

Arthur was standing over her, partially blocking out the light from the overhead lantern. He was holding out a blanket. She ignored him and returned her gaze to Merlin, trying to develop a plan of action for later that night.

Arthur stood there a few moments longer, then dropped the blanket at her feet. "You're going to have to talk to me sometime," he said, taking up a position against the side of the stablebox across from her.

"You said we were finished talking," she reminded him. It was delicious to point out the contradiction.

He sighed and trailed his hand the length of the boards behind him. "Merlin, go bring up some fresh water."

"I did, earlier," Merlin protested.

"Not the _horses_' water, ninny—for us. Go."

Merlin clapped his mouth shut with an audible click and complied, whistling faintly as he went.

Arthur looked back at Morgana. "When did you decide you hated me so much? We used to get along, didn't we?"

"No, I don't believe we ever did," Morgana said reflectively. "You were always swaggering around, Uther's golden boy who could do no wrong, and I don't know that things are any different from then."

He scrubbed a hand over his face. "Look, I didn't want to say this while the rest of them were around, but can't you just—sit on your pride for once and say you're sorry. Father won't punish you forever, he never could."

"If you mean for me to face him, I will tell him what I think of him. And there will be no apology."

"I'm starting to believe you're serious about wanting to be an outcast."

"Did you think I was just _bored_?" Morgana felt that betraying anger, like a dark and cool liquid swirling in the pit of her stomach, threatening to manifest itself and spiral upwards, outwards, setting something alight, tearing something down...She tried, instead, to breathe, but it was so hard when every fibre of her seemed to ache with the need to express it.

"Yes," Arthur admitted. "Actually, that's exactly what I thought."

She waited for a few moments, giving herself time to calm, to work the energy down. Eventually she said: "Arthur, forget everything else, and let the future be what it is. Accept that I don't belong in Camelot any more."

"It doesn't have to be like that." His response was quiet.

"Yes," she said, as Merlin came back into the stable, bearing a bucket of spilling water. "It does."

Arthur tipped his head back against the stablebox wall and closed his eyes. She sensed his frustration, emanating from him like a physical thing, but she didn't care. It wasn't important. He was on Uther's side, when all was said and done, whatever role he might try to play as a go-between, and no amount of talking would alter that.

It still stung Morgana that Guinevere had seemingly so quickly defected to their side, as well. _True, I left her once my arm was healed, but I had to take the chance to leave while I could. I wasn't running away from her—I knew the men would see to her safety. Although Arthur seems more than usually concerned with her safety. I must answer to the king, and she needs not? Even if leaving the castle was my idea. Gwen didn't argue at all. She wanted to get away as much as I did, then. Now suddenly she is Arthur's most loyal servant...not mine. How odd._ It was a generally accepted truth that Arthur could be persuasive and charming when he wanted to be although Morgana personally had never really felt the effects of his charm, but perhaps Gwen—who was, after all, a country lass, and therefore easily influenced—was not immune to them.

The night wore on. Eventually, Merlin curled up and went to sleep in a pile of hay, his blanket pulled over his head to ward off the light from the lantern so that all that could be seen of him were his boots sticking out. Arthur still had his eyes closed, but Morgana knew he wasn't sleeping. He had a hand lightly resting on the hilt of his sword, and his eyes flickered whenever she shifted position, as the straw was so rustly that it was virtually impossible to be soundless.

After a while, she knew that she was drifting off, and she succumbed, sliding into the hay, her nostrils tickled by its sweet sharp scent, obscuring the staleness of the surrounding air. _Awake in a few hours_, she instructed herself. _It may be your last chance to get away_.

* * *

><p>The grey mist of pre-dawn was creeping in through the open stable windows. Merlin yawned silently. He'd gotten a few hours of rest before Arthur prodded him awake and told him not to take his eyes off the now-sleeping Morgana. He was not especially sleepy now, but tired; the fatigue of yesterday's journey was settling into his bones.<p>

Emotionally he was somewhat drawn, too. It was difficult, having to be a silent observer of the scenes that played out between people he cared about; to be reduced to a background fixture while Arthur and Morgana ranted at each other and poor Gwen was stuck fairly in the middle. Gwen, who had only just re-discovered her brother and was returning with them to Camelot at first light. It seemed rather unfair for her.

Of course, the advantage of being a silent observer was that you really did get to see everyone's faces and expressions. He had seen a lot last night that he was going to need time to think about. Gwen's attitude to Arthur, for instance. There was something there. They had established some sort of connection. She was no longer mocking him with the "my lord" business. Well, he supposed it wasn't unusual given the amount of time they'd spent together; they had been in each other's company as long as he and Morgana had. And _he_ and Morgana had established some sort of connection, too; although Merlin didn't think Morgana would have described it thus. And Morgana last night...he'd wanted so much to intervene. If only she would stop pushing everything and everyone away.

He let his eyes drift closed, musing over all that had happened, wondering what the journey back was going to entail. By the time they returned to Camelot, only about a week's worth of days would have passed, though it already seemed like far more.

He became aware that the pattern of Morgana's breathing had changed and she was awake. He sat still, eyes still closed, waiting for her to shift and settle back down.

But she moved. Crawled across the stable floor, in the direction of the entrance, which was past him. Crawled so close—she had to—that the air was disturbed and flowed across his face with her motion.

She's like a ghost that cannot rest, he thought.

And then he remembered what Arthur had said, _if you value your existence, Merlin, make sure Morgana doesn't move an inch out of her sleeping spot; let her go and I will carve your useless eyes out of your head with a breakfast spoon..._

_..._or something like that. Something that sounded grand but which he wouldn't actually do. Because then who would polish his armour and haul breakfast up flights of stairs and sort out neverending piles of laundry—

_Morgana_.

He scrambled forwards, though she was already out. But he could see her in the milky light, darting into the field the stables opened into, her cloak floating behind her.

Morgana could sprint like an agile racehorse and her initial burst of speed was commendable, but it didn't take him long to catch up. He threw an arm out in front of her, slowing her; and, deer-like she tried to dart to the side but he decided he'd had about enough of this and simply tripped her.

Not the most gallant of captures, perhaps—but he was tired of her antics.

Morgana rolled, in order to fall less awkwardly, and tumbled, entangled in her cloak. He stepped on a considerable portion of the material, trapping her, and looked down. "Are you quite finished?"

He was preparing himself for an explosion of anger, since that seemed to be her reaction whenever she was frustrated or embarrassed; but she just stared up at him, blinking.

For a brief moment Merlin felt a touch of fear, wondering if she'd hit her head; he hadn't meant to actually injure her. He crouched down and tucked his hand experimentally around the back of her neck. Her skin was warm and smooth, the muscles and tendons shifting fractionally against his fingers.

And he realized, as he squinted to make out her expression in the dim but gathering light, that her eyes were filling with tears.

_She wants you to feel sorry for her_, he told himself sternly. The problem was, even if purely a ploy, it was working rather well. Because he _did_ feel sorry for Morgana Pendragon. She had magic she didn't know what to do with, a comfortable future she was choosing to throw away—even if he could sympathize, perhaps, with why she was doing it—and she was, simply, completely lost.

He knelt, and pulled her head onto his lap. "Sshh," he said, feeling the ineffectuality of such a sound. He gently tugged tangled hair away from her neck, and used the heel of his hand to wipe the moisture off her cheeks.

Morgana caught his hand with her own then, and her fingers tightened around his for a moment. He thought it meant that she wanted to stay there for a little while, as long as it remained night, and that if Arthur discovered them in the morning, it would be all right, she would have regained her composure.

Sometimes you just had to be sad for a while, and it didn't matter who saw it, or who was holding your hand.

He could understand that.


	18. Chapter 17

Gwen was relaxing in a much-needed hot bath. It had taken her no end of time to get all the water heated and pour, bucket by bucket, into the washtub, but there were lovely tendrils of steam rising from the surface now. She had bolted the front door of the cottage, placed the tub in front of the fire and was now luxuriating in the heat thrown out from the flames. Her fingers were wrinkled, but she was finally _clean_, from head to toe.

It had taken three days for the four of them to ride back to Camelot. When, at the end of the journey, they'd stopped in front of her father's cottage, she'd been hesitant, knowing its condition, unsure why Arthur meant her to come back here when she had assumed she would be returning with him, at least temporarily, to stay in the castle. But he'd bidden her go in and see.

_The front door swung open, revealing to Gwen that everything had been restored to its normal condition. The hearth was swept up impeccably, with logs stacked neatly beside it, and the furniture had been re-aligned with military precision. The formerly shabby curtains had been replaced with thick, bright fabric. There was a basket of apples perched on the mended chair, and someone had even, she saw—and it caused her throat to swell—placed a now-rather wilted bouquet of wildflowers resting in the center of the table. _

_She turned to Arthur, her eyes full of questions. He smiled as if he had done it. "I told Leon and some of the other men to come in here and have the place ready for when you came back. Will it do?"_

_"It's lovely," she said, unable to be more effusive while tears threatened. "Please thank them...for me."_

_"I've got to get Morgana back to Father," Arthur said, "but I'll come back and see you tonight, and we'll talk—about what's to happen next." He hesitated in the doorway. "You have everything you need for now?"_

_Gwen nodded. It was all she needed, in fact; some time to be alone, to gather her thoughts, to wash up and perhaps prepare some food._

_"Then I will see you later."_

In the bath, Gwen hugged her knees. She still couldn't believe that her house had been restored to its former state; indeed, better than before, and the small changes made it easier to accept that this _was_ her house now, not just the childhood home with memories of her father.

It was time to make new memories.

Saying goodbye to Elyan the morning they'd left the Mercian town had been difficult; but he reiterated his offer of his home being open to her, and said to send word if she was ever in need. And it was a comfort to know, at least, that her brother was alive and well, and on the same side of the world. Realizing this lessened some of the loneliness that had plagued her in the hours following news of Tom's execution.

After having done with her bath, Gwen laundered all of her clothes, and hung everything up to dry before the fire. There was nothing to change into, so she put on one of her father's old oversized shirts, belted the pants and hoped that nobody would come to call until her dress was dry. Then she put stuffed apples by the fire to bake, which produced a fantastic aroma that would linger in the air throughout the evening; and thought about what she wanted to make for dinner.

* * *

><p>Arthur had conducted a very quick, one-on-one debriefing for the king, who had been waiting in impatience for any news since his knights had met the party at Camelot's northern borders not long after they crossed through. There would be a formal hearing later, at which Morgana would be expected to make an appearance and give an account for herself and her actions.<p>

Arthur was not looking forward to it. At least he had a bit of time to wash up, dress formally, and think about how he was going to manage to influence Uther's decision so that the best possible outcome for all could be reached.

He thought of Morgana, currently alone in her rooms with guards posted outside the door and no one to attend her. She'd been so subdued on the journey from Mercia; none of them had been able to eke a word out of her. Guinevere had tried to repair their relationship more than once; he himself had tried to treat her less as a prisoner and still the potential sister-of-his-heart that Uther might yet allow her to be, if they were lucky. And Merlin had been, well, Merlin, though helpful and attentive enough.

He could only hope that Morgana's mood remained subdued throughout the audience with Uther; if it did, he figured they stood a chance at winning forgiveness; if it didn't, and she was intractable (or worse, insolent) then the Three Goddesses had better be prepared to help them all.

Now standing in his rooms after having gotten dressed, he stared at his reflection in the mirror, at the Pendragon crest emblazoned on his robes.

Merlin passed by, handing him his sword belt. "Here, sire."

Arthur took it and buckled it on. "By the way, Merlin, you're to attend the king with me, so go wash up, yourself. You smell like a wet donkey."

"I do? I mean, I am? Why?"

Arthur glanced at him in the mirror, as he lingered behind him. "You were with Morgana alone for a good part of the time."

"Er, yes, but...nothing, er, happened," Merlin said, defensively.

"I _know_, but the king may have some questions."

"I don't like the sound of that." The young servant eyed Arthur's reflected self.

"Don't be such a girl, Merlin. Probably he won't, it's just on the off-chance that you might have some, oh, I don't know, _insight_ into Morgana's behaviour." Arthur rolled his eyes and turned around.

"Insight," Merlin mused. "I think that was the word I was supposed to look up in Gaius' dictionary...right, I'll be off for my bath then."

Arthur grunted in vague irritation, then ran fingers through his still-damp hair, rumpling the golden tendrils into some semblance of order. Uther would be waiting, and he had to go to Morgana's rooms to fetch her and accompany her to the council chambers. He just hoped she was ready.

By early evening they had assembled. Arthur, Morgana (dressed in sober pitch-black which only accentuated the pallor of her skin), Leon and the other knights who had met them at Camelot's borders, and Merlin, lurking in the shadows.

Uther received them as king, not as father, and his face was expressionless, yet stern as he first looked to Arthur. "Remind me of what transpired during your absence."

"We caught up with Morgana on the way north to Tintagel," Arthur said.

"Was she alone?"

"Her handmaiden accompanied her."

"Where is the servant now?"

"Lodged in the lower town."

"She should be here as well."

"With your permission, sire, I will speak with you privately on that later."

Uther waved a hand. "Continue."

"Morgana did not wish to accompany us back to Camelot. I insisted." Arthur considered omitting the part about their skirmish and Morgana's subsequent wound, but since it was a major reason for the delay in their getting back, he decided it was best to be completely honest. He relayed the rest of the story as far as he knew, leaving out whatever he hadn't experienced first-hand.

"Do you agree with this account, Morgana?" Uther turned his gaze to his ward.

Morgana inclined her head, wordless.

Uther frowned.

It wasn't a particularly auspicious beginning. Arthur cleared his throat.

"What do you have to say for yourself?"

"I wanted to leave," Morgana tossed her head. "I still want to leave."

"Why," he fired at her.

"Because I have no desire to live in a land where people are killed for exercising a gift they have been born with. I have no desire to be ruled over by an iron-fisted tyrant."

The assembled knights shuffled nervously. Uther's expression didn't change noticeably, but his eyes became flinty. "This is because of that nonsense with your maid's father."

"Not only because of that, but yes—that was my breaking point." Morgana gazed steadily off into the middle distance.

"You understand you are speaking treason, Morgana? And that if you continue to thwart me I will have no choice but to punish you severely?"

She shrugged, the motion of her shoulders both eloquent and rude.

"I am trying," Uther said, "to give you a second chance."

"You may keep it. Give it to someone else who wants it more than I do," Morgana said, contemptuously.

"You are determined to defy me?"

"While I have breath." She lifted her head and her voice rang out high and clear.

"This obstreperous child seems half-mad." Uther let out a sharp laugh without humor. "Who has poisoned your mind against me, girl?"

"I take _complete_ responsibility for my loathing of you and your kingdom!" Morgana shot back.

Uther slammed his fist down on the armrest of his seat. Arthur knew he was on the verge of having her dragged out of the room and he quickly intervened, saying the first thing that came to his mind: "Sire, if I may—there are a few happenings over the past few days for which I have not yet found an explanation."

"Such as?"

Arthur told him first of the shelter that had been destroyed as if by an internal whirlwind, then of Morgana's horse which appeared to have finished off in no natural manner, then finally—Morgana's wound, which had healed almost immediately though they had believed it to be worsening.

"What does this mean?" Uther stared at Morgana, and Arthur looked at her too, but she only had a small smile on her lips for both of them.

"Let me see her arm."

Two of the knights stepped forward to bring Morgana to the king. She didn't resist, but held out her forearm for inspection, still smiling.

"Send for Gaius," the king barked.

Gaius, upon arrival, made a solemn inspection of the scar and then looked up at the king with a crooked eyebrow.

"In your professional opinion, Gaius, how could a wound that was worsening have healed so quickly?"

"It looks to me, my lord, as if the wound had been sealed by fire."

"Ordinary fire?" Uther demanded skeptically.

"No, my lord. Almost certainly, a spell was cast to seal that wound." Gaius looked at Morgana and then slowly released her arm.

"Arthur, what do you say now?"

Arthur exhaled. "I can't help thinking she may have been aided by someone who had—magic. Perhaps someone out there whom we never even saw."

"No," Morgana said.

There was a brief silence after she uttered the single calm syllable.

"I did it myself," she said, looking around the room, her gaze including all of them, daring them to challenge her. "All of it."

"That's not possible," Uther said, almost genially, though his eyes never left hers. "You are no sorceress."

"But I am." She looked proud now.

Arthur couldn't think of anything to say. Morgana? A magic user? Under their noses all this time. He had not meant to expose this. He felt their chance of having a tidy ending slipping out of his grasp.

"It's not true!"

Merlin's voice now, clear and surprisingly strong.

Arthur turned. Stared at his manservant. Just as everyone else was now doing with the exception of the king's ward.

"Why are you doing this, Morgana?"

Merlin stepped out of the shadows of the columns and came forward. Morgana glanced to her side, but would not turn to look at him directly.

"Why? Why are you lying?"

"Explain yourself, boy," Uther rapped out.

Merlin inclined his head to the king and returned his attention to the only woman in the room. "How long have you been practicing magic, Morgana?"

"Ever since I can remember."

"That's not true." He shook his head and Arthur wondered if it was just the light or were Merlin's eyes really _glistening_.

"How do you know?" Uther demanded, the thread of last patience in his tone pulled so tight it was certain to snap.

"Ask her how she healed herself. She can't tell you. Because it wasn't she who did it, it was I."

Arthur crossed over to Merlin's side, having decided he knew what was going on. In an undertone he said—"Why are _you_ making this up to protect her, Merlin."

"I'm not," Merlin murmured back, somewhere between a gulp and a laugh.

"This is madness, both of them!" Uther roared. "I will not be mocked in my own kingdom. Both of you stand trial tomorrow under suspicion of practicing witchcraft, and if found guilty will be executed according to the law! Remove them from my sight."

"Sire—" Four knights hurried forwards to grasp hold of Morgana and Merlin, while Arthur sucked in air and reminded himself not to shout back at his father, who was never reasonable once he'd already lost his temper. "May they not be kept under arrest in their rooms—"

"The dungeons." Uther flung himself out of his seat and circled round it, cloak swirling, like an aggravated lion who had been poked out of slumber. "Now get out, all of you!"

Gaius, his forehead deeply furrowed with concern, filed out after the knights led the unresisting young people out through the doorway. Arthur waited until the outer guards discreetly brought the doors to a close again. It was chancy remaining when Uther had said "all of you", but he knew his elder well enough to risk lingering. "Sire," he said again. "Don't you think that—"

Uther rounded on him, striding right up so close that Arthur had to set his shoulders in order not to step back from the sheer force of the other man's approach. He was not afraid of his father, but there was no denying the man could be intimidating. "You have been gone over a _week_, Arthur. I have no patience for games or mysteries. What is going on here?"

"I have told you everything, my lord." Arthur stood tall, unblinking.

"And what is your conclusion?"

He hesitated. "In truth I don't know if Morgana has been practicing sorcery or not, but Merlin—he has no powers, he's completely harmless, I'm sure of it."

Uther grunted dismissively. "This will be settled tomorrow. The people of Camelot shall see I do not play favorites with members of the royal household. What of the serving girl?"

He hadn't been prepared for Uther to get back to the subject of Guinevere just yet and for a second he didn't answer.

"Morgana convinced her to leave Camelot after the sentencing of her father, but I consider the girl herself beyond reproach." Arthur took a breath. "I won't countenance any sanctions against her."

The older Pendragon let out a short bark of laughter. "Time enough to be talking about sanctions when you're a king, lad! Be that as it may. You'd better see if you can't come up with any more information to spare your fool of a manservant and that bewitched creature he's trying to defend."

He waved dismissively now and Arthur could see there was going to be no more discussion tonight. He bowed: "Father," and left the council chambers, wondering how, indeed, was he going to extract Merlin and Morgana from the trouble they'd gotten enmired in.


	19. Chapter 18

_Pity I bothered to put on a clean dress_, Morgana thought, a bit irrelevantly, as she examined her new surroundings—which were most definitely not very clean. There were many cells in the castle dungeons and no one had troubled himself to sweep this one out recently.

The two knights who had brought her down lingered for a moment by the barred entrance, before disappearing from view. She heard them conduct a hushed and brief exchange with the guards and then there was silence.

Morgana went to the bars, looking out, although she could see nothing but a lichened stone wall, as the cells on the opposite side were staggered.

"Merlin?" she said, tentatively, into the darkness.

There was no response. And, realistically, he might not even be nearby.

She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on him with her mind. He had said something about being able to feel her. Perhaps there was a way they could communicate, if she only knew how.

_Merlin...?_

But there was nothing.

She quirked her mouth at the foolishness of the idea. Well, the idea might not have been so foolish, but the thought that she could suddenly command that power was, evidently.

Turning around, Morgana picked a random spot by the wall and sank slowly to the ground, bringing her knees up to her chest. Why had he condemned himself in the throne room? Was he trying to impress her? All that he had won was a night in the dungeons at the very least and, if Uther managed to extract the truth from one or both of them tomorrow, there was a very real possibility that he would be facing death.

"I hope you know that was really stupid, Merlin," she said aloud.

_No more stupid than what you yourself did_, she imagined him replying.

_Well, I don't care what happens to me now, _she retorted.

Imaginary-Merlin couldn't think of a response to that and she was satisfied.

A sense of unease was building, though, despite her attempts to suppress it. After all, she had chosen to defy Uther; Merlin hadn't. It wasn't right that he was in the dungeons with her. Perhaps she was flattering herself but it seemed as though the only reason he had confessed to magic was to take the focus off her. For her sake.

It was still stupid, of course, but it was also brave, and strangely affecting. He had said he wanted to help her, several times before, and she hadn't believed him. Had thought it was just words.

_I don't know why you mixed yourself up in this._

_Because I _do_ care what happens to you_.

Morgana gritted her teeth against a rush of emotion. She didn't want to be cared about. It made things far too complicated.

Gwen started at the tap on the door. It was late. She'd begun to think that something was keeping Arthur, had gotten slightly angry, then berated herself for the emotion. After all, what claim did she have on him to expect him to come by to see her? Then she'd convinced herself he'd only been being courteous and probably he hadn't even really meant that he was _actually_ going to stop by, and so she might just as well go to bed, and it was hardly worth getting upset over. But the candles were burning low and she was still sitting at the table, in her newly dried dress, lost in her circular pattern of thoughts.

Oh. The door! She jumped up to get it, sliding back the bolt.

It was pouring out—how had she not noticed?—and Arthur was holding some sort of sacking over his head because it seemed his cloak wasn't sufficient to keep the driving rain at bay. He gave her a quick, almost embarrassed smile. He looked tired.

"Come in," she urged, stepping back.

"Guinevere." He was dripping all over the entryway.

It was silly how happy hearing him say her name made her feel, when it hadn't even been that long since they'd seen each other. "Let me take your cloak."

He relinquished it, and she bolted the door again. "Sit down, I made some dinner for you, I don't know if you are hungry, probably you already ate since it's so late." She winced, not having intended to mention the time, at least not at first. _And for goodness' sake stop babbling._

Arthur hesitated for a moment. "Certainly, we could eat. You didn't wait for me, did you?"

"No," she lied, bringing the plates from the hearth, and quickly replacing the guttering candles with more respectable ones.

Arthur sat down at the table, and looked around. "You're sure everything here is to your satisfaction? I want you to be comfortable."

"Completely," Gwen assured him. "Did you have a chance to thank Leon?"

"No, but you can thank him yourself if you come up tomorrow."

"Oh." Gwen didn't think she was quite ready to go back to the castle yet. "I don't know...How are things?"

He widened his eyes morosely. "Unfortunately, I have no good news. Morgana has admitted to having practiced magic, and _Merlin_ of all people apparently thought it would be a good idea to claim that he's the next great sorcerer to come out of Camelot, and Father had them both sent to the dungeons."

Gwen did not know how to respond to this. She could not express any ire directed towards the king's actions while his son was sitting at her table, yet she wanted to scream,_ Really? When is he going to stop?_

At last, realizing that Arthur was watching her closely—perhaps for just such a reaction—she said, "In the past I have often felt that Morgana had...some sort of...connection to the old ways, but of course I never wished to accuse her, or even ask. It was not my place. But it certainly explains some of the things that happened."

Gwen wondered if she should add that Merlin was not as simple as Arthur seemed to think, and that if he, for whatever reason, was claiming to have magic he should probably be listened to.

She decided against it. After all, Arthur would be duty-bound to report any such information back to the king, and she didn't want to influence any judgments negatively.

Not that it mattered; the king seemed to come up with negative judgments perfectly well on his own. Besides, Arthur was sharing as much with her as she was with him.

There were a few long moments of rather awkward silence then, while Gwen tried to determine what, if anything, she should further say on the subject of people suspected of being magic practitioners, and Arthur seemed quite clearly unwilling to continue this line of conversation.

"How is everything?" She indicated the food, which they had both been neglecting.

Arthur returned his attention to the table as if glad of the reprieve. "Good. You didn't go to any trouble, I hope."

"I don't normally eat like this, no." The frank reply was out before she could stop herself.

He looked taken aback.

"Even so, we have always been well off, compared to some of our neighbors. Compared to many of the townspeople."

His brow furrowed. "I know there is a considerable number in need of basic provisions, but that is why they can come to the castle for help."

"Still, many go hungry," Gwen pointed out. "If I may make a suggestion, I wish someone would look into the food usage of the kitchens. I have personally seen a great deal of waste, and it is not necessary, not at all. The cooks are lazy and do not utilize our resources well. If we just—"

She trailed off; he was staring at her intently, but his expression hadn't changed and she couldn't tell if he was getting angry or not. Had she crossed a line, unintentionally identifying herself with the nobility just then? But he laughed. "Maybe you should be put in charge."

"I am serious, my lord."

"Are you going to go back to calling me that?"

Gwen felt her face heat. She didn't want to be teased or talk about inconsequentialities if she had any influence at all to make him see how things could be different at Camelot. "You were patronizing me."

"I was not." He looked genuinely offended at the idea.

"Perhaps you didn't _mean_ to be, but you were."

"Well, then I am sorry, Guinevere. I just find you have...interesting notions. The things you are passionate about..."

"I am passionate about people in need, I don't think that's so unusual."

"When you put it like that." Arthur put down his fork and looked around again.

"You know," he said eventually, "there is something appealing about living like this. Maybe I should spend more time among the people."

"There is _nothing_ appealing about poverty," Gwen said, severely. She wondered if she was ever going to be able to find a common ground with someone whose background and upbringing were so utterly different from hers. He could see need, if it was right in front of him, but could he ever understand it?

"That's not exactly what I meant," Arthur defended. "It's just...there is a kind of pleasant feeling here, that my rooms in the castle don't have, for all their size and furnishings."

In the midst of her irritation with him Gwen felt a twinge of pity. "Love," she said gently.

"I'm sorry?"

"Er...family love." Gwen knew her cheeks were warming. "I think it reflects in and on places. Perhaps you think that's silly?"

"No, but I don't really understand it," he said frankly.

"What was it like for you, growing up in the castle?"

He shrugged. "I expect I was indulged a lot—at times. Others, not so much. My father does love me, you know—even though people don't usually see that side of him. He's not very demonstrative."

"Do you remember your mother?" she asked, a little cautiously, uncertain if it was something he didn't like to discuss.

"No. She died at my birth." Arthur set aside his plate and contemplated the candles for a little while. "I should probably be getting back."

"You've only just come." Gwen realized that, for all her enjoyment of the afternoon and early evening's solitude, she did not want to be alone again.

"It's late." He didn't sound very resolute, however, even as he rose. "Tomorrow is going to be...difficult."

Gwen, too, stood up. "I hope the king can be convinced of Merlin and Morgana's innocence." She knew it was an awkward, roundabout way to express her concern, but she couldn't say anything stronger. Not considering what had happened to Tom.

"So do I," Arthur said, after a brief silence. Sombre-faced, he pushed his chair towards the table, then turned to collect his cloak. "Will you...be around?"

"I don't think I can," she confessed.

She walked with him the few paces to the door. Outside, the rain continued to drum steadily down on the overhang.

Arthur hesitated still. "Guinevere," he said, casting his gaze downward and then glancing at her as if apprehensive. "I want us to be...ah...congenial. I want you to think of me as someone you can talk to. I don't know if you can do that...considering. Everything."

"Friends," Gwen questioned.

"Yes." He looked surprised, as if he'd been searching for that word and she'd stumbled upon it by luck.

"Of course."

"Really?" For just a moment, she saw vulnerability before he seemed embarrassed and said, "Well—then. That's good."

Suddenly he leaned in and kissed her. And Gwen was so unprepared for such a thing to happen that her legs went completely unsteady and she actually grabbed him in an attempt not to fall, and his arms went around her reflexively, holding her up for a moment before he gently set her back on her feet.

They stared at each other.

The rain pouring down seemed to intensify. Gwen blinked.

"I have to go," he said, slight confusion on his features, then he turned, opened the door and bolted out into the wet.


	20. Chapter 19

_Note: I could have written a M/M scene in the dungeon but chose to move forwards with the sentencing, though some may find it abrupt. I've had login issues, am switching from an ancient to a new computer this week, and have a bad cold...so just went with what was easiest to write. Thanks for reading and following._

* * *

><p>Somehow, Merlin knew what was coming. Perhaps it was because he knew that he wasn't afraid.<p>

_The prisoners have been questioned and found guilty of using magic—which, according to the laws of this kingdom, is punishable by death._

"My lord!"

Arthur was intervening, striding to the king's side and arguing in not-very-hushed tones. "Father. Please. Morgana is like a sister to me. For my sake, if nothing else, don't do this."

"What would you have me do? They are guilty."

Gaius was on the king's other side now. "Show clemency, sire. I beg of you."

"And what message would that send to my detractors, Gaius? That Pendragon applies his rules to only those who live outside the castle walls? I would not have that said of me."

Merlin glanced at Morgana, a small distance away. Her face was the hue of bleached bone, yet she saw him looking at her and gave him a strained smile. Either she was mad or courageous, he wasn't sure which but he knew he had never found her more appealing than she was at this moment. She wasn't insisting on going through this _alone_ any more. There was something in her smile of a togetherness, an alliance. Amidst the confusion it was as if only the two of them were in the room.

"Answer my question, Arthur. What would you have me do?"

Merlin returned his gaze to the prince, curious to know what Arthur considered an acceptable substitution for the sentence of death.

Arthur hesitated for another moment before replying. "Banish them."

There was a murmur of uncertainty from those assembled.

"It's not enough," Uther said, dismissively.

"For as long as the king rules."

Uther frowned at this specification. "An odd sentence indeed! May I point out that I may live a long time yet."

"As I hope you do, sire. But it's the not knowing of it."

"They would live almost between worlds, wherever they end up," Gaius conceded reluctantly. "A fitting judgment for spellcasters."

"I grant you this request, Arthur, only because of who you are. Mark you this, however; if I see their faces, or hear tell of them being within Camelot's borders—"

"It will not happen, my lord. I swear." Stiffly, Arthur bowed.

Morgana widened her eyes at Merlin in an almost comic manner.

He supposed it was good they were not about to be dead (yes, it was very good) but he couldn't even begin to envision a life outside of Camelot. He tried to remember how exactly it was he had gotten in this situation again. He just hadn't been able to let her do it. She wanted to bring herself down in ruins, like an animal clawing at itself from the inside out, not knowing or caring how she affected those around her. But he had made her realize that she _wasn't_ alone. And it was hard to regret that. No matter what lay ahead now.

_The prisoners are hereby banished, for the extent of King Uther Pendragon's reign over the kingdom of Camelot. Take them away._

The sentence was effective immediately. They were only given time to collect any personal supplies.

* * *

><p>Arthur had insisted on heading the small troop of men formally designated to deliver the outcasts to the nearest border. No one argued with him as it was understood that the king was implicitly allowing it.<p>

They had gone due east, crossing through the forest of Ascetir. At a final rest break to water the horses Arthur instructed the men to remain behind, saying he would be responsible for delivering the two the remainder of the way.

"I know this area well," Merlin remarked cheerfully, as the three of them rode slowly down the grassy road, torn with wagon-ruts and stretching on into Cenred's lands. "My hometown is just over there, beyond the hills."

They came up upon a crest, where the road wound down into a valley below.

As if by mutual agreement, the horses paused, though Morgana urged her mount a bit further ahead, where she then gazed out into the morning mist, her profile partially obscured by the drawn-up cloak.

Arthur was silent for a while.

"I'm sure you'll be able to replace me easily, sire. And with someone far more efficient," Merlin offered, knowing that an offhanded farewell would be easier than a serious one.

"I could hardly find one more incompetent," Arthur said, looking at him so that Merlin knew that he, too, did not mean the words. "I look forward to having my meals brought on time, my clothing properly laundered..." His voice trailed off as if he didn't have the heart to prolong the diversion.

Merlin, too, sobered. "Please tell Gwen goodbye, and that I was sorry not to see her."

"I will. Remember the terms of your banishment." Arthur added in an undertone, "And if she will let you—keep track of Morgana for me."

"I'll try."

Arthur glared at the grey sky for a minute, as though irritated by having to express the forthcoming sentiment, then muttered, "In my Camelot, you will both be welcome," and circled his horse around.

"Goodbye, sire," Merlin murmured in the wake of the animal's hooves leading back down the road away from them. He felt the odd sense of peace pervading his thoughts again, just as it had during the sentencing. As if this were meant to be, whatever else happened from here. And after all, were they not free? Free to study and explore the craft of the gift they were born with?

Morgana turned. "He's gone?"

"He wishes us well, you know." Merlin tapped the horse—both of them had been given aging nags that had been put out to pasture long ago—forwards to stand beside hers.

"Much good it does us."

He liked to hear her say "us", just as he had. Though she might not have meant anything by it.

"Well," he said, inhaling deeply of the cool, greenery-scented air. "Want to come with me and visit my mother?"

Morgana snorted.

"She's very nice," Merlin persisted.

"I can never decide what it is about you," Morgana said. "You're either the fool I always thought you were, or you're some sort of...inappropriately optimistic..._person_."

He grinned. "To Ealdor, then."

"To...wherever," Morgana said, raising her arm in an imaginary, slightly sarcastic toast.

"I'd say we race, but I think that might do the horses in."

"I agree. And unless you have a secret stash of gold stored somewhere in this Ealdor of yours, we aren't going to be able to come up with better ones any time soon."

"You never know when our luck will change."

She rolled her eyes. "There's that ridiculous optimism I just referenced." But the corner of her mouth twitched upwards, in what an optimist such as himself would definitely have considered a smile.

* * *

><p>Arthur had had a difficult time of it, convincing Guinevere that there was a place for her back in the castle. Obviously, the situation was complicated; her former mistress had been banished, meaning she didn't really have a legitimate position; and though things enough could be found for her to do, Arthur wasn't comfortable delineating her new job opportunities or even giving detailed thought to such matters.<p>

On his side was the inarguable fact that she did need employment of some kind; she couldn't continue to live on in her cottage without some form of wage, and so even working under the aegis of Uther Pendragon, as unpleasant as the idea might be to her, was preferable to destitution. Fortunately, Guinevere's history with the serving men and women stood her in good stead and Arthur didn't think he needed to worry about her reception amongst them.

For the first few days after the banishment he'd stayed away from the cottage, wishing to avoid the renewed embarrassment of their last meeting. The truth was—though he had enjoyed it—he wasn't certain what had possessed him to kiss Guinevere like that, in a very distinctly not-wanting-to-be-friends manner of kissing, and while his inherent gentility wanted to apologize, another part of him thought it might be better to pretend nothing had happened. And so he sent messages through Leon to ensure she was all right and not in want of anything, but did not come by himself. He was legitimately busy, anyway; Uther was keeping a closer eye on him than normal, and there was the training of the knights, who had gotten lazy while he was away, in addition to his other duties.

Thus when Arthur finally did see Guinevere again, it was within the castle walls, and so, talking to her, even bringing up the subject of her returning to work, felt much more normal. After the first week, towards the end of the day, he called her to his rooms for a brief conversation.

"Is everything going all right?"

"Yes, thank you."

"I want you to come to me, if you experience anything untoward." Though he thought he'd phrased that rather nicely, the tiniest of lines appeared in her forehead. But she said dutifully, "Yes, of course."

"Good." Arthur shuffled scrolls on his desk, noticing as he did so that the inkpot needed refilling. As if she had read his mind Guinevere asked, "Have you found anyone to replace Merlin yet? Since, you know, you...you must have a servant."

"No. I'm trying to live like one of the people," he said.

"Really," she said, widening her eyes.

"Yes. Temporarily, anyway."

"And is that...working for you?"

"Not very well," Arthur admitted. "Someone's still bringing me meals, but whoever they are, they can't seem to handle the task of having fresh water in the room or keeping my closet in order."

"That sounds terrible."

He was fairly sure she was making fun of him. But her face was so straight. "Well, we all have to make sacrifices," he said, sighing heavily. On purpose.

Her mouth twitched. "Indeed we do."

He gave her a tentative smile. "I'm teasing."

"Are you sure?"

"Well, yes, but to be completely honest, it is a pain doing everything for oneself."

"I've never known it to be any other way," she remarked.

"Perhaps someday you'll know what it is like to have someone take care of you." Where did _that _come from? Since when did he spout such sentimental notions?

Guinevere's dark lashes hid her eyes from view. He suddenly thought about kissing her again. He wondered if she would be as shocked this time. Maybe she wouldn't want him to stop.

He gave his head an actual shake. _Concentrate_.

"I should...be about my work," she murmured. "Can I—is there anything I can do for you? While I am here?"

_Concentrate! _"Ah, no, thank you, Guinevere." He stood up, pushing the papers away in what he hoped was a purposeful and brisk fashion.

"All right." She dipped her head, sending dusky curls tumbling over her shoulders. "I will ask someone to bring more ink," she added, as she backed away.

_Ask someone to bring more ink_. What kind of a dignified departure was that? One would think it was her first day working in the royal household and not having any idea how to speak to anyone. _Honestly, Gwen!_

She grabbed a couple of empty wood baskets someone had left sitting outside their rooms, on her way back to the kitchens, and balanced them against her hip while she hurried down the stairs. She barely saw the man at the bottom coming up and nearly ran into him. Offering a quick distracted curtsy, she was about to be on her way when he grasped her arm, swinging her gently back to him. Gwen opened her mouth to protest at being thus handled when he remarked—"You're good at getting away from me."

Brown, earnest eyes. The would-be knight from Mercia. "Lancelot?" she said, trying his name curiously. "I didn't expect to see you again."

"You didn't tell _me_ I might see you again," he said, chuckling in mild disbelief. "And after the way you ran off! I meant you no harm."

"I'm sorry." Gwen laughed nervously. "But I could not really be sure, could I? A girl can get into plenty of trouble, believing in the words of strange men."

"That is true," he said soberly. "Although I am not that kind of man." He released his grip on her arm. "Please, tell me your name before I lose you again."

She searched for a reason to dissemble longer but could not think of one. "Guinevere. Gwen," she amended.

He bowed. "My lady."

"I am not a lady," Gwen hastened to assure him. "That is...I serve here."

"I hope to serve the people here, too, as a knight, of course. If Prince Arthur will permit it."

"I'm sure he will give you a fair—" Gwen almost said trial and then decided to find another word, since that one had bad connotations lately. "—chance."

"And you, where are you headed? May I help, this time?" He gestured to the baskets she still had perched on her hip.

She began to demur that she was just taking them below and really, needed no assistance, as kind as he was, but then, looking into his eyes, she remembered Arthur's words of a few moments ago: _Perhaps someday you'll know what it is like to have someone take care of you._

And why not? Why could someday not be now? Why could someday not _start_ now? Gwen handed over the baskets. "Thank you."

They talked a little, and she found herself walking slowly, as they made their way in the direction of the kitchens. He was attentive but unassuming, and she realized that, though she had fairly successfully put him out of her thoughts since their initial meeting, she was very drawn to his courteous manner. They lingered outside the kitchens after dropping off the baskets. She could muster no desire to run away from him this time.

"Well. It grows late. Good night, Gwen." Lancelot reached for her hand and pressed a quick, polite kiss to it. Startled but flattered, she didn't pull away.

She murmured good night in response, then, and hurried away down the hall, casting a surreptitious backward glance to see that he, too, had turned back to look.


	21. Chapter 20

_Shorter-than-usual chapter...my apologies._

* * *

><p>It was nearing noon, though the sun was still largely obscured by a peevish sky. A light wind sent the laundry flapping on the strung ropes outside the cottage of Merlin's mother. Somewhere nearby, chickens were clucking in irritation.<p>

"She's not here," Merlin announced, dismounting. "I'll have a look around, maybe she's down in the square. Tie the horses over there if you like." He gestured at a section of weathered fence.

Morgana brought the plodding animals over and looped their lead ropes around one of the posts. She doubted they would attempt to go anywhere; they seemed content just to stand. "I don't suppose there are any cows you'd like me to milk while I wait?"

Merlin gave her his boyish smile. "I wouldn't have thought you knew how."

She rolled her eyes. "Go find your mother."

He set off, whistling just, she figured, to annoy her. After he was out of sight she wandered into the cottage. It was certainly humble enough, she thought, looking around, but thankfully, tidy, with a faint scent of dried lavendar filling the air. She didn't know anything about his family. He hadn't mentioned a father or brother, sisters.

_Please may he not have a horde of baby siblings stashed away in here or we will be spending no more than the night. I can't abide a squalling cluster of children_. The spareness of the rooms boded well, though. She sat down at the table, undoing her cloak.

Partly she still thought she was mad to have accompanied him here, but the truth was she had been mildly curious to see where Merlin came from. To see if his all-pervading good humour was a family-related trait, or perhaps an epidemic restricted to this particular town. She smiled wryly and tapped her fingers on the tabletop. Something was bubbling by the fire and it smelled good. She hadn't had much of an appetite the last little while, but they had had a very early breakfast on the road. Morgana got up again and had a look inside the kettle. Some kind of egg custard...

"Are you hungry?"

Merlin's mother—she assumed, as she turned, startled—had come through a side door.

"I'm M..." she started to introduce herself, realized she couldn't really claim the name of Pendragon any more.

Not that she wanted to.

"I know who you are." Hunith gave her a smile that had more of weariness than welcome in it. "The king's ward, I saw you earlier this summer, distributing food at Camelot."

"Not any longer." Morgana straightened. She had an urge to add "We've been cast out," but decided that Merlin should be the one to deliver such news to his mother. "Your son and I have come for a visit."

"Where is he?" Hunith looked around, now with concern.

"He went to look for you in the square."

"Oh, I came back through the fields." The older woman relaxed, setting down her basket and adjusting her cap for a moment. "He should be back soon, then." She crossed over to the fireplace and used an iron rod to remove the kettle, setting it on the table. "Will you eat with me?"

Morgana nodded, slightly uncomfortable. She accepted the bowl that Hunith filled for her and inhaled the steamy air rising from its contents.

"How do you come to travel with Merlin?" Hunith watched her curiously while she went to fetch spoons for them.

"He'll explain," Morgana said, after a momentary silence. "It is...complicated. Do you live here alone?"

"Yes." Hunith rummaged through a wooden breadbox on the mantel and produced an end of bread.

"Merlin's father?" Morgana persisted, somewhat brashly.

Hunith was spared from answering at that particular moment as the door burst open. "Mother. I must have just missed you." With exuberance her son embraced her. Morgana had to look away, both affected and irritated by the display of familial tenderness. "How have you been?"

"I'll be better once I know your reason for coming," Hunith replied with slight reproof.

"Ah." Merlin glanced at Morgana. "A bit of a long story, that one. But it's nothing urgent."

"Then you'd better sit and eat." His mother added more food to her bowl and pushed it in his direction.

* * *

><p>Arthur looked around in annoyance. Where was the infernal boy with the water? The sun was beating down surprisingly hot for midafternoon, and they were practicing with maces in full armor and mail. He ran the back of his hand across his forehead and gestured at Leon to let the men have a break.<p>

A dozen paces away was a sturdy cart used for transporting some of the practice weapons, and he walked over and used his elbows to lean against it, tipping his head back up to the sky. For a few moments he just breathed, enjoying the wind that stirred the damp hair on his temples and the burning red behind his eyelids, letting his heartbeat return to normal.

"Ahem."

A distinctly feminine clearing of the throat. He straightened. He'd been about to kick the boy for being so late, but it was Guinevere who was approaching along the sideline of the practice yards, bearing the looked-for jug of water. He smiled at her. "I wasn't expecting _you_."

"I hope you don't mind." She smiled back, but she scanned the yards, a hand to her forehead to ward off the glare of the sun.

He followed her gaze. "Looking for someone?"

She shook her head quickly and looked back at him. "No, just bringing the water."

"Let's have it then."

Guinevere offered the container. Arthur tipped it back without putting his mouth to the edge, and drank his fill. He noticed when he stopped that she was looking across the fields again.

"Should I leave it with you?" she inquired, absently.

Leon and a few of the men came over then, Leon with a smile for Guinevere and a teasing comment about how she was far prettier than the usual water-bearer. Guinevere smiled and gave a light reply but Arthur could see she was distracted. After the men had finished taking their refreshments, Guinevere curtsied and excused herself and began making her way past them to the far end of the fields.

"Who's over there?" Arthur asked of Leon, nodding his head in the direction she was going. There were a few men grouped together, but he couldn't make out any of their faces.

His second-in-command scanned for a moment. "Griffith and Radnor, I think, and that newcomer...I forget his name. He wants to train, but they said he's not nobility."

Arthur squinted, watching Guinevere as she walked closer to the three men and paused by them. "There's plenty of work for those who really want it."

"The stables will always need sweeping," Leon agreed with a laugh that somehow escaped being mean-spirited.

Because he was feeling slightly contrary Arthur said, "Good character isn't limited to the nobility."

"A rather provocative statement for the king's son to make," Leon remarked.

"But true all the same. And there is nothing wrong with having aspirations."

Guinevere had just touched the stranger's arm and it looked like she was laughing at something he said. Arthur frowned. Logically, he realized that Guinevere probably knew plenty of people that he'd never been introduced to, but it mildly irked him that he hadn't had a chance to vet this one first. Given that she looked so...entertained.

"Let him swing a sword around if it makes him feel better, see if he's any good," Arthur said slowly. "And Leon?"

Leon was already moving out. "Sire."

"Find out that name."

"Yes, sire." The red-headed knight bowed hastily and took off at a trot across the yards.

Arthur turned around and leaned his elbows over the cart again.

He was meant to have dinner with his father tonight and it would be the first chance they'd had to do so since the banishment of Uther's ward and his manservant. He could have made time for an earlier opportunity than now, but had been stalling to some extent, always having found a convenient reason why that particular night would not do. Impossible to put it off any longer, now. Uther wanted an update on various doings of the knights and Arthur knew that unless he suddenly developed a crippling attack of the sweating sickness, he would not be able to miss the engagement.

_Maybe I should go down to the lower town and ask some sick people to breathe on me._

_Appealing as that thought is, Arthur Pendragon, you'd be better off having a bath and polishing this armor, since there's no one else around to do it._

Which reminded him of Merlin. It was hard to say he missed Merlin. He didn't really _miss_ him. It was hard to miss someone who was constantly letting sunlight into your room too early in the morning (and far too cheerfully), tripping over your boots (which you had left in a particular place), or far too often could be found prowling your room in the middle of the night (with no reasonable excuse).

Still.

Hard to say, really.

He pushed away from the cart and started the walk back up to the castle, waving a hand to let the other men know they were done for the day.


	22. Chapter 21

"She's sleeping," Hunith murmured as she joined her son, who was standing out back watching the sun set beyond the trees. "I thought perhaps the pallet would not be comfortable, but she seemed exhausted."

The kind of bed that Morgana was accustomed to might be a thing of the past, Merlin reflected, though certainly the nights of the past couple of weeks had already shown them that.

At least now there was a roof over their heads.

"Thank you, Mother," he said, after a moment.

"For what?" Hunith's voice held a touch of surprise.

"Taking us in." He smiled, as he often did when he felt the need to allay a nervousness or foreboding, knowing the conversation he'd been putting off all evening was about to happen. "Morgana hasn't had much kindness shown her lately. She probably didn't expect it, but I appreciate it."

"I think you had better tell me what has happened," Hunith remarked. "Before I begin to make assumptions about why, exactly, the two of you are here together."

"Rather a lot has happened," Merlin admitted, choosing to ignore the implication in her tone. "But to give you the short version of events: Morgana has had a falling-out with the king...over magic. She's like me, only she has powers she hasn't had a chance to learn about or control. I tried to protect her and...as I said, in short...we were both banished from the kingdom."

His mother stared at him. "You say it so lightly!"

"It was initially a graver sentence," Merlin hastened to add, "which, luckily, the prince managed to commute for us. But the fact of the matter is Morgana has nowhere to go and I persuaded her to come here with me until—we, or she, decides what happens next. I hoped—I mean, I was fairly sure that you would let us stay."

"Of course you must stay, this is your home, and it will always be your home." Hunith clasped his upper arm, turning him towards her. "But why did you involve yourself in their problems? In sending you to Gaius I hoped he would be able to protect you from such things."

"It wasn't Gaius' fault." Merlin couldn't quite meet her questioning gaze. This was as awkward as he'd known it was going to be. How could he explain the way he'd become drawn into Morgana's troubles—the way they'd almost seemed to become his own? The way her darkness seemed to seek out his light and beg, of its own accord, perhaps even against both their wills to blend into some sort of shadowed existence together. How could he explain something he didn't himself understand?

"It was my fault," he said, slowly. "She needed someone. Somebody when there was nobody. I think it just happened to be me."

"Well, if it doesn't make a difference to her I would rather she chose some other woman's son to need," Hunith said, somewhat tartly.

He could feel himself flushing and was glad that dusk was settling around them. "I didn't mean she feels...anything for me. I don't think she does."

"And do _you_ feel anything for _her_?" His mother's eyes searched his face, looking for the answer in case she could read it there before he even said a word of response.

He stared at the expanse of clouded sky beyond. He'd always been honest with Hunith, there had never been a reason not to be. At last he nodded, not trusting speech.

A tiny sigh escaped her. "I thought it might be so."

"It doesn't matter, Mother. I expect nothing from her. She's—"

_Unreachable. In so many ways_.

_Vulnerable._

"I am sorry," Hunith said, touching his cheek.

He shook his head. "Just let us stay—as long as she wants?"

"Yes. I only ask you to be careful, my son. That is not the kind of girl to be gentle with a man's heart."

He had an urge to contest this statement, but he resisted because he suspected his mother was right about that.

* * *

><p>Gwen tucked the ends of a threadbare but clean linen cloth around the plate of food and placed in into a basket. The kitchens were relatively deserted; she could hear the one of the cooks kneading bread in a nearby alcove prior to its warming in the sun, punctuated by the snores of a chore-boy indulging in an illicit mid-afternoon nap, under one of the tables probably. Gwen bit her lip in indecision and then after a moment's dallying quickly added a few deserted heels of bread. It wasn't stealing, really, when it all would have been tossed anyway, yet her conscience pricked her. But it was for a good cause.<p>

"Where are you going with that?"

The unnecessarily stentorian tones of the prince. She whirled, startled rather than genuinely frightened, and, regaining her composure, replied, "I didn't think you knew where the kitchens were."

Arthur grinned at her and followed her out down the hall. "I have to find my own food these days, remember?"

"I very much doubt that," Gwen said, casting him a quick upwards glance. "I am visiting a village friend, who has recently given birth." He looked somewhat surprised and she added defiantly, "These are only leftovers."

He sobered. "I was only teasing, Guinevere. Let me accompany you."

"Are you certain? Her lodgings may not be—"

He raised an eyebrow.

Gwen faltered. "...up...to your standards."

"I think I can endure a brief visit," Arthur said solemnly. "Besides, you seem to be forgetting that night we spent together in Mercia?"

She gaped at him and looked around desperately to ensure no one in the immediate vicinity had heard. "My—Arthur!"

"'My Arthur'?" he repeated, clearly enjoying her discomposure, and laughed. "I'm speaking of the room with ONE BED...?"

"There were two," she hissed, marching away from him.

He caught up with her easily as she darted into the courtyard. Here there were others around and Gwen felt more than a few eyes on them, though she kept her head down and her arm wrapped tightly about her basket, as Arthur strode alongside.

"Guinevere," he announced presently, "I don't mind a brisk walk but you are running as if you are embarrassed to be seen with me."

She slowed, taken aback. "Of course not. If anything I would think—"

"What?"

"That you...would feel so." She glanced at him under her lashes, not intentionally coquettish though the effect was rather the same.

"Nonsense," Arthur declared, briskly. "A fine future king I'd make if I were ashamed to be seen out with one of my people." He said this with a peculiar amount of pride and Gwen wasn't sure if she found it amusing or insulting. She decided to consider it later, and, when he gestured, rather hesitantly moved forwards again, by his side.

They strolled the rest of the way, under the mild late summer sunshine and a benevolent blue sky, in a more peaceful quiet.

The interior of the cottage to which they were going was, as Gwen had suspected, in need of straightening up, which she had come entirely prepared to do herself. The baby was only a few days old and the young mother, a niece of Joan for whom Gwen had worked, was clearly still too exhausted from her travails to care about the disorder or that the crown prince was there to see it. She sat propped up in a handmade rocker by the one window, where sunlight spilled on her pale face and that of the swaddled infant, closing her eyes after they exchanged greetings.

Gwen took up the babe capably, delighted by its scrunched forehead and miniature ears. "He is precious, Sibyl," she murmured, using her knuckle to stroke its rosy cheeks, trace the downy eyebrows. "I brought a little food. Are you getting any rest?"

Sibyl smiled wearily and blinked into the sunlight, gathering her shawl about her shoulders with a tired shrug that spoke volumes. Gwen looked at Arthur. "Would you hold the baby so I can sweep?"

He hesitated.

"Or you could sweep," Gwen prompted.

He cleared his throat. "Yes. Hold the baby. Certainly. How is it done?"

Gwen shooed Sibyl from her rocker, into the partitioning bedroom where she could lie down in comfort, then brought the small bundle back to the knight who looked as if he was trying not to be intimidated by the task ahead.

"It is quite simple," she said soothingly, rather charmed in spite of herself by the fact that he wasn't downright refusing as she'd rather thought he might. "The important thing is to move slowly, newborns don't like to be startled, and hold his head, of course." She eased the infant into the crook of Arthur's elbow, guiding his arms—was his hand _shaking_ as it reached to encompass and adjust the position of the baby's small head?

They stood, for a moment, close together like a ready-made family while moments passed and Gwen found herself mesmerized by Arthur's expression—it was so honestly reverential as he gazed at the diminutive being. She dug her fingernails into her palms to break out of it and make herself move, remember the reason for which they'd come.

Within short order she had the room swept and tidied, the few dishes washed, her food unpacked and put away.

Arthur had sat down on the edge of the rocker and did not look at all comfortable but he held the now-sleeping baby securely and indeed hardly moved at all, even to shift position, while Gwen worked. "He fell asleep," he announced, gingerly, after a short time.

"I see that." Gwen smiled as she cut up vegetables for a broth beginning to heat by the stove. "You are good with him." (No need to mention that newborns could and did fall asleep at a moment's notice regardless of who happened to be holding them at the time.)

"Where is his father? He does have a father, doesn't he?" Arthur cast a glance at the partitioned-off room.

"Sibyl's husband works in the fields, he'll come in for supper."

"So she just sits here all day like this by herself?"

"I stop in when I can, as do some of the other women," Gwen said, amused once again by how little he knew of how people really lived. "This is only her first, mind, wait until she has several needing attention—it is not so easy then, I can tell you."

"How do you know all this?"

"How do you _not_?"

Arthur looked hurt, or maybe genuinely a little insulted. Finally, wincing, he transferred the baby to his other arm, and leaned back somewhat in the chair. "Is this what—women...want?"

Gwen shrugged, understanding despite the obscurity of the question. "Perhaps not all do, but this is the way it is. Marriage means keeping the home...and motherhood."

He looked up from the baby again, directly at her. "Is it what _you_ want?"

Gwen's instinct was to reply that it was. His challenging expression was confusing her. "I...suppose, someday, if the right man..."

Oh _why_ did a vision of Lancelot pop into her head at that exact moment and why on earth did it feel disloyal! She dropped the paring knife and scarcely noticed. "Why are you asking me such questions?" Her voice came out in a betraying squeak of emotion.

"Because I want to know." There in his blue eyes was that simple expression of sincerity that made her stomach ache.

"Arthur Pendragon, I wish you wouldn't play with me, talking of things you should only be talking of with some...foreign...princess brought by your father to cement two kingdoms together—"

She scrabbled for words. What was _that._ Something the prospect of which had been worrying her evidently though she'd never consciously thought such a thing until this very moment. And the look of amazement on his face now revealed he was just as incredulous of her statement as she was. But it was so _true_ just the same, he had no business engaging in this manner of...of diversion simply because he was trying to punish her for making him hold the baby. Or whatever it was he was doing.

She had no idea.

_Is it what _you_ want?_

She squirmed with fury and confusion.

"Guinevere...I am not playing," Arthur said, slowly. "I never ask questions unless I truly want to know the answer. Can we—Are you done here?"

She wanted to send him back to the castle, wait till he was gone before returning herself.

She also wanted to continue the conversation...which was what he had almost suggested, she felt sure. Though not while her friend was in the other room.

Wiping her hands on her skirt apron, she came to him. "Give me the baby."

He stood up and leaned over her, transferring the child gently into her arms.

"Now go." Gwen tried to sound commanding but it came out sounding rather tentative, in part because Arthur had rested his hand on the baby's head for a moment as if saying goodbye and it was so..._endearing_.

"I'm only going if you promise we will talk later. Tonight. Come to my rooms."

"I couldn't possibly! It's not at all—appropriate."

"Then meet me somewhere," he persisted.

"The chapel," she said, congratulating herself on that bit of quick thinking. "The little one down by the old—"

"I know where it is." He gave her his confident smile and backed away. "Till then, Guinevere."

She stared down at the baby in her arms, who was waking, the little mouth puckering in a tiny yawn. _Trysting with the prince, what am I thinking? Maybe I won't go. _But she knew that she would.


	23. Chapter 22

Morgana gathered handfuls of water up to her face, closing her eyes. The stream was still cool this hour of the morning. Also, there was a lingering chill in the air, as if the warm nights of summer were about to come to an end. With mild distaste she noted the sensation of mud seeping through the fabric of her trousers as she knelt.

Yet the water refreshed her, swept away the night. She had not slept well, though considerably better than in Camelot's dungeons.

A twig crunched not far off and she observed, without turning her head, "You are truly terrible at sneaking about, Merlin—"

She expected a reply or at least a self-conscious chuckle and when it did not come Morgana glanced over her shoulder. Not her host at all, but an unknown man of indiscriminate appearance, dressed plainly in a hooded and tattered robe.

She rose, warily, taking his measure further, though he was doing nothing to indicate a potential threat.

"Don't be frightened, child," he said. "I mean no harm."

"I will be the judge of that," Morgana retorted.

He gave her a smile. His eyes were ageless, though his face was lined. "I am Alagar, of the druids."

"Strange. This is not where you were known to be living."

"We moved," he said. "Fled. Those of us who survived the king's persecution." His smile faded.

"What do you want with me?" She took quick stock of her surroundings, lest there be more of his type. "I no longer have influence in Camelot." _If indeed I ever did..._

"You misunderstand, Morgana. I am not looking for vengeance."

She relaxed her shoulders a bit, unsurprised that he knew her name. Druids did know things. And had ways of finding out those they didn't.

"I thought perhaps you might be interested in learning about your gifts, now that you are free to claim them. It must have been a lonely existence at the castle."

_You can have no_ _idea_, she thought, but looking into his gaze realized that possibly he did. There was something compelling about his words, though they came from a stranger.

"But there are many others like you. Women, children...families. Would you meet some of them?" He held up his hand when she opened her mouth to object. "Know that I have no wish to abduct you; you must come with me willingly, or not at all."

Morgana stared at him for a few moments. "Where are they?"

"They are not very far. I make no promises that you will be well-received by all. Not everyone feels as I do about educating those associated with the king."

"I'm not, any more," she said, irritated.

"I know that, but it takes time, for some, to accept. I do swear that you would be safe." He held out a hand, palm up.

She thought of Merlin. In fairness to him and his mother, she should refuse, at least while they had no idea where she was. She wondered what Merlin would do if she disappeared on him now. The idea of flirting with the current delicate balance of their dynamic appealed to her independent streak.

It was hardly as if she were bound to them, she had not made any promises.

_Would Merlin panic if I were gone?_

Though she couldn't quite think why the idea of this pleased her, it did.

"Perhaps there is someone you must speak to, before you decide?" It was as if Alagar sensed the pattern of her thoughts.

Morgana frowned. "No. I will meet your...people." She stepped forward. "Though be warned, druid, if you play me falsely you will not go unpunished, king or no king."

* * *

><p>The sconces lining the chapel walls were dusty and darkened from disuse, a testament to how rarely this area of the castle was occupied. Arthur had borrowed a torch as he passed through one of the better-lit hallways and used it now to light some of the fixtures. The flames cast shadows against the stonework beyond. A rather austere setting for their meeting; he would have thought a girl might rather spend an afternoon outdoors—sunshine and a field of daisies, that sort of thing, but if this was how Guinevere preferred it, who was he to gainsay her? It didn't matter to him where they met. Granted his rooms <em>would<em> have been more comfortable, there were chairs and cushions, for a start. But he was beginning to realize that Guinevere was, after all, accustomed to austerity, and he didn't want to look as if he was showing off.

He left the lights burning and wandered out, since there was no way of knowing when she would appear (or even, really, if she would at all, thought he suspected she meant to keep her word). The hallway had access to the outside battlements and fresh night air. He strolled up and down the wall-walk.

As a knight and a soldier, he was not given much to introspection—mid-battle, for example, it was an indulgence that one could ill afford—yet there were moments when the body and mind demanded it. So he passed the time, waiting for Guinevere, just thinking. Of her. Of his father's Camelot and how his would be different; his thoughts kept returning to this, although always tinged with an uneasy sense that it was somehow disloyal to consider such things.

He had been there for some time when footsteps told him that Guinevere had finally arrived, but he was still in a jocular mood and didn't berate her. Perhaps he even felt a touch of relief before she announced—somewhat defensively—"I almost didn't come."

"Why not?" Arthur showed her into the chapel.

Guinevere, looking around, gathered her shawl protectively about her shoulders. "It still doesn't seem right. I would not meet—anyone else, under such circumstances."

"You were the one chose it," he reminded her.

"Only because you insisted."

"Come, Guinevere, we are more than lord and maidservant now, are we not?"

"What do you mean?" Her voice held a timbre of suspicion.

"You said we would be friends."

"Yes, well...that was before you kissed me."

Arthur laughed, uncertain whether he was surprised or made nervous by this piquant observation. He cleared his throat and strove for something neutral to say. Guinevere moved past him in the direction of the altar, the faint scent of flowers trailing her and disturbing his concentration.

"So. About this foreign princess you wish to marry me off to." He gave himself a mental nod of approval for having gotten the discussion back on track.

"I do not wish you to marry anyone!" she retorted over her shoulder.

"The line of succession requires it..."

"I have no doubt you will do your duty when the time comes," she said, now more calmly.

He was slightly deflated by this. Jesting about marriage was more entertaining than serious remarks about duty. He knew all about duty. In all likelihood he was going to have to put his happiness far behind it.

"Are you feeling sorry for yourself?" Guinevere inquired, tilting her head in a curious manner. He admired the way her curls spilled over her shoulder when she did so.

"No. Maybe a little." He came and stood by the altar, as she was doing. They gazed up at it together for a few moments, side by side. Just when he was beginning to think that an amicable balance had been restored and he was safe to broach another subject, she said, "When the time comes—I am sure your father will arrange for someone suitable."

Arthur wrinkled his nose as if the idea itself had a palpable taint about it. "When the time comes—I will choose for myself."

Guinevere turned her head in his direction, acknowledging this statement, but her gaze was still downcast. "Choose?" she said distantly. "Yes, I suppose you will."

He was irked. "_Ask _someone myself."

"Someone." She looked up.

He gave her a bold stare. "Yes, someone."

Her expression revealed confusion and then she moved as though to put distance between them, but he caught her forearm, carefully pulling her back. Initially she resisted, crossing her arms over her body as if to protectively hug herself. Arthur shifted both hands to her upper arms, still holding her as gently as possible. He could feel her trembling.

"What's wrong?"

Guinevere shook her head. Baffled by her resistance—since she wasn't angry (nor trying to leave in earnest, or he would have let her)—he tugged her closer, enveloping her completely in his arms. She remained for a few more moments unyielding—then softened against him. Pleased, he settled more solidly into the embrace.

It was nice, for the short while she allowed it to last. Then she squirmed free and looked up at him with something approaching misery in her eyes. "What is it?" he repeated.

"I want to be honest with you..."

"So do I."

"Then tell me what we are doing here," she whispered.

"I believe we've just been—engaging in a display of affection," Arthur said, after a moment's consideration. "Commonly done when people feel..."

Her eyebrows rose expectantly.

"Affectionate. Towards each other. Don't they?"

"I can't afford—such feelings."

"They cost nothing."

"Nothing to you perhaps." She gave him an indignant glance.

"I didn't say they _mean_ nothing—I meant—it seems natural. I like being with you. Do you feel differently?"

For an instant he regretted asking, what if she said yes?

She slowly shook her head and he had a moment of exultation until she murmured: "But it is not that simple."

"Why shouldn't it be? It _is_ that simple. We are friends. We have affection for each other. Someday—things could be different."

Guinevere stared at him while he wondered if she could hear his heart beating. It seemed loud enough. "What does that mean, Arthur, _exactly?_"

"It means that I am not the king yet, and I don't want to make you promises until I _can_ make you promises." Why was she refusing to understand, he was being as plain as he knew how.

The silence stretched between them, lengthening like the shadows cast against the walls by the spitting flames. At last she said, very low, "Perhaps that is not enough for me."

That stung, and, goaded, he demanded, "Is there someone else who can give you more?"

"I am leaving now." She spoke quietly, as a matter of fact. Instinct told him to stay where he was, not to worsen the moment. Guinevere paused by the door. "Because I told you I wish to be honest...there is someone, as it happens. It may be I am not so unlovable as you think." Her voice had a catch in it and he realized she was close to tears.

"That's not what I—"

"Goodnight, my lord." A perfunctory curtsy, and she was gone, rapid footsteps taking her away.

_I'm sorry_, he thought, and he was, but the unvoiced emotion was no comfort in the empty room.


	24. Chapter 23

The first few occasions that Morgana disappeared for a while, Merlin thought little of it. After all, it seemed only natural she would want some privacy and freedom, so he assumed she was merely roaming in the woods, exploring beyond Ealdor's immediate environs. Moreover, she was always back by nightfall and still took at least one meal a day with him and Hunith, though faced with their casual questions she had little to say about where she had been, or how she had been passing the time. Yet after a fortnight had passed, curiosity mingled with concern led him to pay more attention to her comings and goings and he noticed, upon waking one night in the middle of its darkest hours, that Morgana was not even in her bed.

He confronted her the following afternoon when, though her eyes were still purple-shadowed with fatigue from whatever midnight adventures had been occupying her, Morgana set out once more. She did not take one of the horses but left the cottage on foot, and he went after, making no attempt to conceal himself.

At the edge of the field bordering the woods she suddenly turned, her cloak sweeping around her, and gave him a level glance. "Why are you following me?"

"Where are you going?" Merlin countered.

"Merlin, go back to the house."

He straightened, unable to keep from being offended by her high-handed words, and yet her tone had been defeated as if she didn't really expect he would comply. "I want to know where you're going."

"And what makes you think I am about to tell you?" She arched an eyebrow.

He shrugged. "A sense of decency, if nothing else."

"I'm not bound by your—moral codes," Morgana said, with something approaching a sneer. "I do what I want, now. I will not have any man dictate my activities."

He sighed and stared down at the dirt, hoping to find some patience, or perhaps inspiration, in the tangled weeds. "Is that what you think this is?" (Morgana's eyebrow remained inquiringly aloft.) "That I'm trying to control you?"

"What else would it be?"

"You do remember that we were banished together, don't you? That I stood at your side—"

She held up a warning hand. "Please, don't try to make me feel guilty for your choice."

"I _mean_—I stepped in for you because I thought somebody had to, I wanted to help. You seemed set on bringing yourself to ashes. This is me being concerned for your safety."

"I am perfectly safe," she said dismissively. "No need to be concerned."

"You're not even armed."

"Aren't I?"

He realized suddenly what it was. Her magic...there was something of the truly initiated in her gaze; she looked less hunted, more confident. She was learning, from someone, somehow. And she wanted him to know.

"You could have just told me." Merlin walked closer, within reach of her. Morgana stood her ground, eyeing him in a way that suggested she was half-pleased, half-defiant. "So who is it teaching you?"

Morgana made no further pretense. "The druids. One in particular. He is very good at explaining things to me. Things I didn't understand before."

Merlin swallowed the tiny sense of betrayal and wounded pride that crept up on him—he had always envisioned himself teaching her the little he knew, and subsequently them learning together—perhaps from books, perhaps from people, but it appeared that was not to be. "And his motives...?"

"If you're suggesting he is interested in me, I should think not; he's quite old enough to be my father, perhaps twice over."

This was a relief but he phrased his reply in a careful manner. "I would be worried he is perhaps using you to get back at the king in some way. Considering how his kind has been treated."

"I told you I don't let anyone dictate my activities." Morgana threw an impatient look at him and then back at the woods.

"It's just you're gone so much of the time," he said, quietly.

"Well, and what if I am? What possible difference could that make to anyone? I hope you didn't think when I accompanied you to Ealdor that I was going to sit by your mother's fire and hold her wool while she knits? Or that I'd be content to tend goats by your side?"

He shook his head, pressing his lips together.

"Merlin." Morgana's tone switched from mocking to serious, with a touch of pity added in. He resented it intensely even before she said more, but could not bring himself to jerk away when she laid her hand on his arm. "You _know_ I am no feeble-minded country milkmaid. I was not born to such a life, nor could I ever live it now I'm grown. You know that, don't you?"

He hated when she spoke in that wheedling manner that reminded him of the way she used to talk to him back in the castle, when she wanted Gaius's tonics. "You've been happy enough to accept the hospitality of my mother's roof, until now," he reminded her, stiffly.

Morgana laughed, seemingly effortlessly, as if he were really that entertaining. "Sweet boy, your mother is a pleasant enough woman—even though it's clear she dislikes me...but as I am only here for a short while, until I make more suitable arrangements—it little matters what she thinks."

There was so much obnoxiousness about this observation that it was hard to settle on one point, but the epithet with which she'd addressed him was clearly unendurable and he pulled away from the pressure of her hand now. "Don't call me that."

Morgana pouted indulgently. He _hated_ her. No, he didn't. But it was still beyond bearing.

"I know you're jealous because I didn't tell you about the druids," she said. "And because they sought me out instead of you...but, I could always ask Alagar if he minds if you come with me some time."

"_Don't_." He delivered the word with as much intensity, both verbal and mental, as he knew how and for a moment Morgana seemed to hesitate—almost flinch—as two lines creased her forehead.

Something tugged at him, a memory of healing her arm. A memory of Gaius explaining empathic connections. A memory of a preternatural moment in the dungeons, after Uther's inquisition, when she had _called_ him; he couldn't explain it rationally at all, he just knew she had. But he hadn't been able to bring it up and face her derision at the notion.

Now, it almost...

Made sense.

Or at least didn't seem laughable any more.

"That first night," he said, slowly. "In the dungeons. When we were awaiting sentencing."

She had looked away, was staring into the near distance, her lips parted.

"You spoke to me."

"We weren't anywhere near each other." The mild protest sounded hollow.

"It didn't matter," he said, gaining confidence even while he could sense she was losing hers. "I heard you."

"You couldn't have. I mean I never—" Caught, Morgana glanced at him for a moment and then away once more. "I must go," she said, faintly.

"Not yet, I want to try something."

She looked slightly taken aback, unprepared for this.

"Sit down. Over here." He took her wrist and calmly hauled her to a spot alongside the edge of the field where there were fewer of the spiky weeds. Her resistance was token. She sat, drawing her knees up to her chest. He crouched, comfortably, in front of her, taking her hands. "Look at me."

She shook her head.

"Morgana, _look—at—me._"

She did, then, and there was a kindling anger in her eyes that he well recognized, but it didn't deter him. If her magic was still of an emotionally based, unfocused nature he would not hold it against her. If on the other hand she were foolish enough (angry enough) to use her powers—or whatever new-found knowledge she possessed—purposefully against him, he would retaliate in kind.

Of course he hoped it wouldn't come to that, he never wanted to hurt her, no matter how provoking she was.

No matter that she wouldn't be as gentle with his heart as he always wanted to be with hers.

The furrows in Morgana's forehead deepened. "What are you doing?"

He concentrated on her. At her. Focused his considerable mental intensity into her, through her eyes, to the degree that there was almost an uncomfortably piercing sense of intimacy. To the degree that a part of their minds mingled and in that tiny part of shared sensation it wasn't even clear which thoughts were whose.

It was impossible to know how long the mind-connection lasted, but it was Morgana who broke away, yanking her hands out of his, as she scurried backwards.

He rubbed the back of his neck, where a massive headache was building and he was pretty sure her resistance was the cause of it. "You could have let me try that a little longer."

"You had no right to do it at all," she retorted in a shaky voice.

"Don't you want to know what it is? If it's something only...some people can do?" He stood and reached out to help her up also.

She ignored the offer, scrambling to her feet on her own and shaking her cloak. "No. Merlin, just—will you leave me, _please_."

The impassioned request was genuine. He held up his hands and turned, affecting nonchalance, sauntering away a few steps. He waited until she turned away as well and then swung back. "Morgana."

Distrustfully, she looked back at him.

"I'll see you at dinner."

The challenge lay between them for a few moments. He didn't think she would throw it back in his face, tell him she would see him whenever she wanted to or not at all, and she didn't. She stared at him with her unfathomable leaf-colored eyes, then swept her hood up over her head and marched off into the forest.

* * *

><p>It wasn't really cool enough at nights to warrant a fire, as fall was only just upon them; but Gwen had laid one in the hearth of the cottage anyway, seeking the comfort of its warmth and brightness. Several days had gone by since her uncomfortably-ended rendezvous with Arthur and she'd managed to avoid encountering him as she went about her daily work. She wasn't sure if she wanted to talk to him. If he wanted to talk to <em>her<em>, he knew where she could be found.

Gwen turned the parchment message, brought earlier to her doorstep that morning by a scruffy farmboy and already read several times, over in her fingers. It was a brief message, from Merlin. She'd been pleased to receive it, hoping for a cheerful update on his and Morgana's circumstances and a description of life outside Camelot—but the note only asked her to come, if she could, to Ealdor, that he needed her assistance. He couldn't (or wouldn't) be more specific.

_Of course I will go—tomorrow, if possible._ But such a choice would leave her position at the castle somewhat in limbo. It didn't matter. _Though of course—in fairness, I should speak to Arthur first and tell him of my plans._

The truth was, she would have asked him to accompany her, if she had only gotten the message sooner than now. Before the chapel meeting. Now her thoughts were straying towards asking Lancelot. They had not spent much time together lately. On one afternoon he had gone with her to fetch some herbs as a favor to Gaius who did not venture far from Camelot any more. It had been a pleasant outing and they had talked, and Lancelot had been courteous and mild-mannered, as always. If the excursion had been, perhaps, underwhelming, however—all things considered—that was surely not Lancelot's fault. More likely a defect on her part. She hadn't been _bored_ exactly. Just...

Yes. She would ask Lancelot. The earnest Mercian would be a good, respectful escort, which was exactly what she needed at this moment.

Gwen read Merlin's note one final time, then moved forward to place the paper on the flames of the fire, watching until it disintegrated into dusty, irretrievable ashes.


	25. Chapter 24

The day started out crisp and fine, ideal for a morning patrol with some of the newer knights who needed the practice, but Arthur, conducting a last-minute check on his horse's saddle straps, felt disinclined to enjoy the weather. He found himself speaking uncharacteristically curtly to the men gathered round as he delivered the details of the day's outing. The stallion, perhaps responding to his mood, began sidestepping in a fractious manner, and Arthur paused for a moment to pat the animal's neck.

"So we are headed for Greenswood, my lord?" Leon circled by.

"Not at first. On the way back." Sweeping his gaze around the assembled men, Arthur realized one was missing. "Where the devil is du Lac?" He'd given tacit acceptance to Lancelot's joining such patrols; the fellow was a good swordsman and they were short of those for the time being.

Leon looked blank for a moment and then said, "Ah, I thought you knew. He's acting as escort for Guinevere who is journeying to Ealdor...they left this morning—"

"How would I _know_ that when you didn't _tell_ me." Arthur stared at the stallion's neck which was level with his eyes and then, after a moment of supreme effort, turned his gaze towards Leon, who sat up a little straighter in the saddle.

"I am sorry, my lord. I didn't realize—"

Arthur let his expression say the rest. _You didn't realize it was your _job_ to keep me informed of things I can't possibly be around to see? That I wanted you to pay attention to the whereabouts of Lancelot and Guinevere? _Separately of course, it had never occurred to him they would go anywhere together. Not without asking him first.

Leon looked appropriately chastened. It was enough of a rebuke for the moment. Arthur swung up into the stirrups and gestured with his head, knowing the men were watching.

It was not the time to fly off in a rage, though his chest burned. _Escort for Guinevere_. When did she mean to return—she had better!—and why had she not asked him? (Particularly if the destination of Ealdor meant a connection to Merlin and Morgana, which he had to assume it did.)

Rationally, of course, there was nothing wrong with her choice of Lancelot—_except he's not me—_who ought to be more than capable of keeping her safe, even if he wasn't nobility—_She should have asked ME_.

Well, he would find out for himself. Whatever was going on, he meant to be in the middle of it. He'd catch up with them, Guinevere would have no choice but to speak to him. He would take over the position of guardian and Lancelot could...tag along as he pleased or go back to Camelot or be damned, Arthur didn't really care.

Although, if it had to be determined right now, he was leaning towards the damned part.

Signaling for Leon, who had been riding at a respectful distance instead of alongside as he usually did, Arthur briskly communicated the change in plans. Leon was to complete the patrol and bring the men back to Camelot, whereas he, Arthur, intended to be gone for an indeterminate amount of time to locations varied and unspecified.

"What if your father should inquire?"

"Tell him you thought he knew," Arthur said, with a touch of ironic savagery, as he wheeled the stallion around and left the group.

* * *

><p>Despite what Alagar had told Morgana upon their initial meeting, the druid encampment was a considerable way from the village; at least an hour on foot. She rather liked the distance, however; it increased her sense of freedom, and the journey through the woods gave her the peace and solitude she craved.<p>

It was true that thus far she had felt safe enough at the camp, but she'd also noticed that not all of its members approved of her presence. As long as Alagar was at her side no one approached her, but Morgana had perceived plenty of censorious looks thrown her way, and overheard occasional mutters of "king's ward". So usually they sat in one of the tents to discuss arcane matters and spell-lore. Alagar was wise, if often cryptic, and concluded each of their meetings with a paternal blessing that she had almost come to look forward to. And, unless Morgana brought it up, he never referred to her previous life at Camelot, for which she was thankful.

On this day Morgana had chosen to ride her horse to the camp, but took a rather meandering path because an odd sensation of unease had settled on her, not strong enough to make her turn around and go back. The horse seemed sensitive, too, and occasionally tugged sideways and paused as if confused, though the way was well-known to it by now.

Falling leaves scattered across the path, as horse and rider wended their way down into the gully which was bordered by immense rocks. The familiar smell of smoke-fires was curiously absent, and Morgana slowed the horse as the sense of suspicion took deeper root in her stomach. The community was gone, cleared away—yet scraps of fabric from the tents, well-worn tracks through the grass and blackened fire pits remained. She reined in the horse and just sat for a few moments, listening for any sounds, though there was nothing but the typical whisper of trees in the distance.

"They're gone."

Descending from nearly above, from the rocky cliff, was the owner of the voice. She recognized him as Galen, one of the druids she'd seen but never spoken to. He'd appeared so suddenly, as if from hiding, that she hardly had time to react, while the falling pebbles from his quick descent startled the horse. Galen caught hold of the bridle with casual speed. Morgana realized, looking down at him with a twinge of nervousness unsettling her stomach still further, that he was one of those who had not been well-favoured towards her presence in the camp.

"How is that possible? I was here not a day ago," she said, trying to sound confident but not arrogant.

"Much can happen in a day." Galen gazed at her unsmiling. He was a tall man, probably a head taller than Merlin—who, Morgana thought irrelevantly, was not short. The tight grip he kept on the horse unnerved her.

"Alagar would not leave without...without any message for me."

"He wasn't given a choice."

As he said this, Morgana saw two other men converging upon her. "What do you mean?" she said, trying to focus on Galen and hoping her fear didn't show. He had very cold eyes, up close; narrowed and a color reminiscent of new steel.

"I mean your king has a way of convincing spell-casters to move quickly."

The other men drew up, one close on her other side, the other hanging back.

"He is not my king." Morgana knew the protest would be futile, even as she uttered it.

"Get off the horse," Galen said by way of reply.

She re-assessed them quickly in turn. None seemed heavily armed in the way of brigands, but as magic users, they did not need to be.

_What do I have?_ Her own novice powers, which, untried, she had little faith in. The obligatory dagger in her boot, which, unless they were complete fools they would find and remove before any length of time. She could kill one, perhaps two. She could fairly break Galen's neck with her boot from this angle, though without a follow-up that wouldn't do her much good and would not dispose the remaining two kindly towards her. But complying with his order to dismount did not seem a sensible alternative either.

She shook her head.

Galen exchanged glances with the other two, then grabbed her arm and hauled her bodily out of the saddle. The horse bolted forwards and Morgana was barely quick enough to manage getting her feet away in time to avoid being dragged away with it. Galen let go of her so that she tumbled to the ground, landing hard on her elbow. She bit back a cry.

_Merlin. If you can hear me...if you can find me, come now._

She squeezed her eyes shut against the pain radiating through her arm, trying to concentrate on the message, though she still didn't know if she was delivering it properly. Or at all. Just because he'd said it worked. Once before.

Let it work again.

_Please._

"Why are you doing this?" she asked, though she knew. There was so much for which Uther had to be held accountable. She should have done it, before she was banished. She should have run him through with a dull sword, herself.

Yet she still didn't understand, for druids were men of peace for the most part. Perhaps they were imposters. Perhaps they meant to hold her for a ransom that would never be delivered. Perhaps...

"You must pay," Galen said conversationally, confirming her thoughts.

"I have no money," she said, just to be obstreperous.

"Not that kind of pay."

She had a moment to mull this over before he kicked her in the shoulder and her arm went into spasms of pain, and there was nothing else to think about but how much it hurt.

* * *

><p>Merlin ladled soup into a bowl and put it in front of Hunith, who was sitting at the table. They'd been at the market for most of the morning, and she looked tired. He set the larger portion in front of her but she waved it away. "You aren't eating enough."<p>

"I'm fine." Yet, to please her, he took it back, though he didn't have much interest in food. The comments Morgana had made about his expectations of her activities in Ealdor still rankled, and she was still spending much of her time with the druids. It wasn't that in itself that bothered him; it was that she wouldn't talk to either of them at all now, and he felt her slipping away from him.

"When is your friend coming?"

"Soon, I hope."

He had sent for Gwen for two reasons; first, he missed her friendship and calm counsel, and second, he harbored a tiny desire that she could in some way help Morgana, directly or indirectly, to form a sense of community again. He was aware the two women hadn't parted on the best of terms, but perhaps Morgana could be brought to see that their history, their background together was too important to reject completely, even in spite of the banishment. Maybe, eventually, Morgana would even consider Arthur in that light. They had, after all, grown up as brother and sister. Surely that was a connection too significant to be severed. Merlin, himself without siblings, had a rather nostalgic longing for all four of them to be on good terms, even if current circumstances rendered that unlikely (if not downright impossible, his cynical side argued).

He hadn't adequately explained all this to his mother and he was fairly sure she didn't really understand what the point of Gwen coming was. Yet Hunith hadn't objected, though the cottage remained small and their food prospects were never abundant.

Abruptly there was a sense of pressure in his head, as if the fingertips of an unseen hand clawed against the contours of his skull from within. Morgana was calling him.

And it was nothing like before. Then, it had been a curious, misanthropic touch. Now, it was a pain-wracked plea for assistance—

—_help me_.

He stood up from the table so quickly the soup bowls spilled, barely registering his mother's stare.

"I have to go," he muttered, moving around the room, grabbing things he needed without thinking about them. Stuffing everything into a pack. Running out, finding the remaining horse and swinging up. Digging his heels into the animal's sides. Going where he didn't know, but following the call that lingered like a repeating echo in his mind, Morgana's pain marking a clear trail for him to seek out.


	26. Chapter 25

Gwen gazed around the shadowy glade they'd chosen to stop at for the night, one of the reasons being clear rushing water nearby. The ground was pleasantly flat and the grasses well-trampled here, suggesting that other travellers had camped on the premises before, though it also meant they might have to scrounge for wood farther afield.

She pressed thumbs into her temples in the hopes of relieving a slight headache gained from the unaccustomed travel. They had kept to a leisurely pace, since there was no immediate need to do otherwise; besides, Gwen had felt that proceeding any faster would have seemed too much like fleeing Camelot instead of merely going to Ealdor.

She certainly felt safe enough with Lancelot at her side. Thus far he'd been a deferential yet attentive companion on the road, sensing when she wished to stop, not pressing her to talk more than she liked.

_Arthur needs to find some way to make him a knight. He would be one of the best, _she thought, watching the subject of her musings as he tended to the horses some distance away.

Before long he rejoined her. "It may be cool tonight. Do you want a fire?"

"Yes, thank you. Should I look for wood?"

"No, I'll do that." But his tone was gentle, not dictatorial.

"Then I'll find stones to contain it," Gwen said equably, rising from where she'd been perched atop her journey pack.

"All right." Lancelot hesitated for a moment. "Better not to wander far."

"I shall endeavor not to get lost," she promised, with a mock-solemn face.

"It's just I have not forgotten the first time you disappeared on me."

Gwen smiled, also recalling her mad flight through the town streets that day.

Turning aside, she began to explore the clearing, while Lancelot headed off in search of kindling. She found a few rocks among the underbrush but not enough to make an entire ring, so she went through the bushes towards the source of the water sounds. Here there were mainly pebbles.

She watched leaves swirl their way downstream and listened, as a hawk circling above on its final pre-dusk hunt cried out raucously. Since she was usually within her cottage at this time of evening, it was pleasant to see the purpling, clouded sky, here where the trees opened up. She tossed a water-smooth rock across the surface of the stream but with not enough force and it sank without skipping.

Gwen straightened after a few moments, restored from the temporary distraction of her purpose, meaning to head back up the incline. Her heart jumped, faster even than her eyes properly registering the sight of Arthur on the opposite bank.

Without preamble he demanded—"Where's your escort?"

Gwen exhaled deeply in an attempt to calm her racing nerves. He had appeared so suddenly. "What are you doing here?" she countered.

Arthur sheathed his drawn sword with more force than necessary and picked a shallow spot to cross the stream. Gwen stayed where she stood and tilted her head as imperiously as she could manage. Which, despite all the times she'd seen Morgana employ a similar pose, was not much.

"Some care he's taking of you, leaving you out alone like this."

Gwen made a point of gazing around at length before turning her eyes back on him. "I do not see any bandits, my lord."

His nostrils flared. "Guinevere."

They stared at each other for a few long moments. Then the expression in his eyes softened and she thought he was about to say something considerably more tender, when Lancelot arrived. His own sword was at the ready until he saw the newcomer was Arthur, and then the Mercian's face changed—it felt like a slap to Gwen's own to see the genuine delight on Lancelot's at the sight of the prince. Skidding to a stop, Lancelot put one knee to the pebbly ground by the stream before Arthur and had it been anyone else the action would have appeared excessive, even obsequious, but just like everything else Lancelot did it seemed real and pure, untainted by ambition or self-interest.

Arthur looked as deeply uncomfortable as Gwen felt; she knew he wasn't here in his capacity of future king of Camelot, and Lancelot's action almost mimicked her earlier '_my lord': _a purposeful jab she'd been unable to prevent herself from making yet again.

"Lancelot." After a moment of hesitation Arthur rested a hand on the would-be knight's shoulder, informally acknowledging the act of fealty.

Looking at both of their faces, Gwen realized, in that instant, that while she had nothing but admiration for Lancelot's character and commitment, she did not—could not—_love_ him, and a sense of mingled relief and fear sent a startling ache through her soul. Because she didn't know _why. _

She didn't even want to think about why. The idea that it might have something to do with the man in Pendragon red (at whom she was actually still quite furious) was...untenable.

Arthur had no _right_ to show up in the midst of the forest. Even so, it would have been tolerable if he'd approached humbly professing concern for her well-being. But to announce his presence without so much as a greeting and then to act angry with _her_...as if she was doing something she shouldn't be.

She closed her eyes.

After a moment she opened them and realized that both men were staring at her now, Lancelot having risen and Arthur having dropped his hand.

"You're tired," Arthur said, after another silence.

"I most certainly am _not_ tired. I closed my eyes because I didn't wish to see either of you."

Lancelot looked confused by this and Arthur, discomfited.

Gwen realized she was in control of the situation. Rather than pleasing her this exasperated her. What were they all just standing around for? It was getting dark. She was hungry. And she could hear the nickering of Arthur's horse somewhere in the underbrush on the opposite bank.

"Go get that horse," she ordered.

"I could do it," Lancelot volunteered, casting an uncertain glance from one to the other.

Gwen raised an eyebrow at Arthur. She thought she might very well throw something at his head if he made Lancelot fetch the animal.

Arthur (fortunately for his head) muttered, "_I_ will get my own horse," and set off back through the stream to do so.

Lancelot, after a minute, approached Gwen, stopping before he got too close. "Is...everything all right?"

She nodded quickly and smiled, trying to release her irritation. It wasn't his fault the way things were turning out. "Yes, of course."

"Shall we go back up?" He held out his arm, and she took it for the brief walk back to the chosen camp spot. She resumed her seat of earlier and made an effort to summon up composure. Lancelot had amassed a sizable quantity of branches and logs which he'd stacked by the stones, and now set about making a fire with. Before much longer they could hear Arthur, bringing his horse to where their own two had been hobbled, then joining them in the clearing, a morose look on his face. He stopped by Gwen and muttered—"Can I talk to you?"

"Not just at this moment," she replied, sedately. She assumed he meant in private and it would be unfair to Lancelot for them to wander off together. Hopefully he could see that. Arthur did not argue, at least, but after an indrawn breath, took a seat on the opposite side of the fire.

Since Arthur was brooding and Lancelot was tending the fire, Gwen decided it was her job to distribute the food. Her home-baked loaf of modest brown bread would not be much divided among the three of them, but it was filling enough and there was plenty of water to drink.

They ate quietly, while the sky darkened to midnight blue. For a while it seemed to linger reluctantly at that shade before intensifying to a black canvas, spattered with flecks of stars. Lancelot laid another log across the fire, turning it into a consuming blaze. The silence, meanwhile, threatened to grow just as consuming. Gwen stared into the near distance but could not rally herself to find a topic of conversation that would be suitable. When Lancelot finally asked politely of Arthur if all was well back at the castle, she found herself holding her breath.

"Quite," was Arthur's terse reply, and he volunteered no more. Gwen threw Lancelot an apologetic look. Meeting her gaze, and then glancing back at Arthur, he mentioned that the horses needed watering and he would see to it.

Once Lancelot had departed, Arthur rose and took a position closer to Gwen, then shifted forwards, resting his elbows on his knees. "You've heard from Merlin. Or Morgana?"

"Merlin sent a message," Gwen acknowledged.

"Is anything wrong?"

"Not that I know." She eyed him. "Is contact forbidden under the terms of their banishment?" It wasn't her nature to be sarcastic but she was still on edge from the unexpectedness of his appearance.

"I would have appreciated knowing that you were leaving."

"So I am meant to report to you before undertaking travel?"

Arthur sighed, dropping his forehead into a still-gloved hand for a moment. "Of course not."

Gwen plucked at an unraveling thread on the cuff of her sleeve. "Then what is it you want me to do?"

"Send Lancelot back."

"I will not." She sat up straight, meeting his challenging stare. "He graciously agreed to accompany me even though I gave him almost no forewarning."

Arthur's jaw shifted, his mouth setting stubbornly. "You could have asked me."

_What does that mean_, she wondered..._is he just mad that he didn't know about this or is he actually...jealous? _She almost hoped the former. If it were merely that he wanted, in princely fashion, to be in charge of events, that would be aggravating but they could accommodate it...but jealousy, Gwen had no idea how to handle.

"Do you really think he was a poor choice of escort?" she tried tentatively.

"No," Arthur admitted readily. "He's almost as good with a sword as I am. In fact," he said, warming to his subject in the way only an avid leader of men could, "given how little formal training he's had it's really quite remarkable."

Gwen dropped her gaze, unable to help her smile. She loved it when he was fair. Such moments gave her hope for the future, that things truly would be different under his rule.

"_But_ he shouldn't have left you alone by the stream," Arthur added, noticing her mouth curving.

She was still looking down but then he said her name, and she looked up, attention captured by his tone that was both soft and serious, and he was reaching out for her hand, not actually touching it, waiting for her to give it to him. Confused, Gwen put out her hand, hesitant, aware that not far off there were the sounds of Lancelot leading the horses back through the bushes towards them. Arthur's fingers touched her palm, the lightness of the contact sending a shiver from her shoulder to her hip.

"Why didn't you ask me?" he said, low, and even by firelight she could see unfeigned hurt in his eyes, though he tried to sound matter-of-fact. She was so affected by the complete, if almost surely temporary, unmasking of his feelings that she was rendered momentarily unable to reply.

And by the time she got out—"I..." they were rejoined by their other traveling companion, who, judging by his own expression, realized almost at once that there was a complexity to the relationship of which he had heretofore been unaware.

_I'm sorry_, Gwen thought unhappily, putting her hand back in her lap. Now she felt she was being unfair to both of them at the same time, and she had not even done anything wrong, had she?

"The horses are watered," Lancelot announced. Loudly, it seemed.

Arthur cleared his throat. "It's getting late. I'll stand first watch." He moved a short distance away from the campfire.

Gwen unbundled her sleeping roll; while she still wasn't tired, she was more than ready for the reprieve that feigning slumber would bring. Lancelot, on the other side of the fire, did the same.

They met eyes for a moment, through the flames. She felt he deserved some sort of explanation but didn't know how to make one. Perhaps he didn't even expect one, but still. He must want to know why Arthur had come. But since she still didn't honestly know the answer to that either, what was she supposed to tell him?

"Good night," Lancelot said quietly, as they gazed at each other.

She murmured the same thing, then settled down on the ground. The flames of the fire danced warmly against her closed eyelids, and Arthur's question kept echoing in her mind until she finally managed to fall asleep.


	27. Chapter 26

Pursuing Morgana was made considerably easier by the fact that the emotional trail left in her wake was as clear to read as a physical one. Merlin was not wasting any time and yet his confidence that he was following the right path was shaken by a sense of prevailing dread that no matter how quickly he found her it would be too late. Too late for what exactly he tried to prevent his vivid imagination from picturing, particularly since he had no idea who or what was responsible for her disappearance and her pain.

He found the druid encampment—or rather, what was left of it—early on. All that the area seemed to indicate to him was that its former inhabitants had left in a hurry, with considerable turmoil of spirit. That was not reassuring. He circled his horse for a while, trying to think while at the same time trying to _feel_ past the thinking, since that was what had got him this far to begin with.

_Morgana, where are you_. But she didn't, or couldn't, answer.

Leaves, curled in upon themselves like clawed hands, swept across the valley floor in front of them. The horse pawed in agitation. He leaned forward automatically to soothe it, to pat against the shaggy mane. No doubt the animal didn't like the aura of magic that still clung to this place. They had to move on. Morgana needed him. And though that realization would have been a gratifying balm to his soul as recently as yesterday, now it was an insidious splinter since it was married to her suffering.

Better she were a thousand miles away and happy, than seeking him out and in distress.

He wheeled the horse around in a final circle and cantered out of the valley, heading north.

* * *

><p>The news delivered to them upon arrival at Hunith's cottage in Ealdor the following morning—that something had happened to Morgana, and Merlin, subsequently had gone after her—did not immediately strike Arthur as concerning.<p>

"Morgana's always running off somewhere," he said to Hunith (who seemed like a sensible woman, for all that she was Merlin's mother.)

Hunith shook her head positively. "He was very upset. Morgana has been disappearing for days now, it's true, but this time was different."

Guinevere touched Arthur's arm. Somewhat surprised, he glanced at her. All three of them were sitting around the roughly-hewn table together, but she'd hardly said a word other than good morning either to him or Lancelot since they'd resumed travel. Now, her dark eyes were worried. "Arthur, I think she may be right. In his message..."

"You said nothing was wrong!" he accused.

She glanced down, embarrassed and rightfully so, but her hand remained on his arm as if to appease him. He relished this, particularly since Lancelot was noticing the gesture too. "I...it wasn't clear, but now I just feel that even then, there was something..."

"How long has Merlin been gone?" Arthur asked of Hunith.

"Since yesterday afternoon." Her eyes were on him, too. Everyone seemed to know he was the one to make decisions, which was exactly how it should be. He calculated possible times and distances in his head, unperturbed by the number of unknown factors. Actually, beyond the superficial irritation of having to chase after Merlin and Morgana yet _again_, he was vaguely pleased to be faced with a purposeful task. Merlin was blessed with a complete inability to hide his tracks so, barring a torrential rain like before (or any other unforeseen disasters), finding them would be easy.

He stood up, adjusting his sword belt, aware of Lancelot twitching in the background, eager to come along. He looked down at Guinevere.

"We should go soon," she said, as if to confirm.

"We, meaning—" he pointed at the other man and back at himself, "—yes."

Guinevere stood up, indignation in every line of her body. "I am coming with you!"

"I knew you were going to say that." The light was coming in through the window, illuminating stray ringlets that had escaped from her hastily-tied back hair. For a second he was distracted enough to want to touch them, to place his hand against her neck and...

He made himself look away, dispelling the image. It was not conducive to the task ahead.

"Then you also know I am not going to sit here and wait for you, not this time."

"Yes," he agreed. "I know."

"Good." But despite the confident reply there was an adorable expression of surprise on her face.

"Will you not eat before you go?" Hunith said, gesturing to the small pot on the table which seemed to contain some kind of unidentifiable gruel.

"You two go ahead," Arthur said. "I'll wait for you outside." He was hungry, but he wasn't _that_ hungry. Besides, he reasoned, it was not a lot to share between four people. Congratulating himself for the act of self-sacrifice, he walked outdoors, basking in the sunlight and the feeling of magnanimity.

He was still in a fair humor as, shortly after, they were on their way and tracking Merlin north of the village. The sky was cloudless, the air cool in the way of autumn. True, he would have preferred that Guinevere stay behind at the cottage at least until he knew what this particular trek would entail, but she'd been determined to come and he supposed she had the right to insist.

The forest widened ahead of them a little and Guinevere nudged her horse to keep up with his so they were trotting side by side. Lancelot had fallen discreetly back. He shot her an affable glance, but she had that expression on her face again. The one that meant he'd done something wrong.

"What is it now?"

"Nothing."

"I know that look on your face."

"I do not have a look on my face."

"Ah, see, I would beg to differ, you absolutely do have a look on your face, it's your 'Arthur's done something I don't approve of but I won't tell him what it is unless he asks' look." He was hoping this would coax a smile out of her but she continued to gaze gravely into the distance ahead.

He directed his horse a little closer to hers, as close as the animals would allow without balking, and prompted—"Guinevere."

"If you really want to know..."

"I do."

"Very well, it's just that Hunith probably didn't have anything else to feed us and it was rude of you not to have any." This came out in a rush and she refused to look at him while she said it.

"Was it good?" he inquired, blandly.

"Don't change the subject."

"I'm not, we're talking about the food."

"It was—food, which is all it needs to be." Her tone developed a note of vexation.

"I bet Lancelot licked out the bowl," he muttered.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing."

"You know, Arthur, if you do want to understand how your people live, you might actually have to start some time."

He shrugged, a bit unrepentantly. "Look, we can...dig up roots for lunch, or something. I promise."

"I only want you to promise to be grateful for what you do have. You never know when it might be taken away from you."

He glanced at her again, feeling surprisingly chastened by this and not knowing quite what to say. Had that been a reference to her father?

"I'm sorry," Guinevere said after a few moments, as if she'd mistaken his silence for wrath. "I didn't mean that to sound so..."

"No, it's all right." It was true, after all, the concept of being grateful—for things it was always implicitly understood he was born to and deserved—was somewhat foreign to him. "I'll...try."

She looked so pleased that he only just ducked in time to avoid a low-hanging swath of branches overhead, a good thing because that would have been extremely humiliating with Lancelot watching.

* * *

><p>From a distance, the ramshackle huntsman's hut—embraced in the grip of overgrown weeds and nestled in a grove of blackthorns—looked abandoned. Though the woods were silent and still, Merlin dismounted and tied the horse so that he could approach quietly on foot. The trail, the emotional sense of it, had ended, leaving only a strong instinct that he was at the right location. His mind felt muted as if blanketed by fog. Well, for now he must focus on what he could see.<p>

At one time there must have been a door at the side of the hut but now the entryway gaped open where the roof above was falling through. He had to stoop to get in. The air was musty and damp. The space was devoid of inhabitants or furnishings, but for scraps of fur and other refuse. He inadvertently stepped on a tiny carcass of something, a rat or squirrel no doubt, and winced as the bones crunched under his boot. An uneven square in the far wall let in light, illuminating the motes of dust that rose from the ground.

So, she was not here, but she was somewhere near by.

He went back out, and conducted a search of the immediate surroundings. The blackthorn was too tangled to explore, but there was a yellowing-grass field stretching off to the west. Merlin climbed the first few limbs of a tree to gain the perspective of height, and saw where the grass looked trampled, as if a path had been recently worn.

He dropped lightly from the branches and followed it, knee-deep, till he found the reason for his search.

Morgana was lying on her side, elbows up against her chest. Her face, her closed lids were stark white except—and his stomach gave a sick lurch to see it—the bruise that bloomed like an ugly flower along her cheekbone.

_No._ He knelt at her side and then looked wildly, irrationally around, as if the perpetrators were there, watching, but the air remained still and silent, silent and still. He tried to contain his rapidly building emotions, which weren't going to serve him well. He said her name, whispered it at first, then touched the pulse at her neck to comfort himself, said, "Morgana," louder.

She didn't answer. The silence felt accusatory, as if to say he was too late.

He put his arms around her, gathering her close. She weighed little, not even as heavy as the sense of guilt. He lifted her up. Her head rested accommodatingly on his shoulder, but the rest of her was stiff and cold, shell-like.

While he carried her out of the field he felt as if he should talk to her, even if it were just to say '_I'm sorry I didn't find you sooner'_ but he couldn't make himself utter the words. He thought if he made any noise the world might explode with all the questions he needed to know the answer to and subsequently his anger towards whoever had done this.

Outside the hut he set her carefully down, and her body curled into its former position in a reflexive manner that made his heart ache. He raced off to get the horse and his supplies and was back within moments.

He brought her within the shelter of the hut, made an impromptu bed and wrapped her in his cloak. Morgana's body was unresisting to these efforts. He hauled in some kindling scrounged from the surroundings, dumped it in the fire-pit and with a quick spell had the wood alight. Then, as the fire began to crackle, he knelt by the bed again. His heart was pounding. He didn't know what else to do. Her eyes remained closed, her breathing faint in the manner of someone far away.

"Can you hear me?" he said, putting a hand on her forehead which seemed far too cool, and concentrating, trying to establish their connection. _Morgana, can you hear me?_

But there was nothing, worse than nothing there was an awful hollowness, and all he could do was stroke the matted hair at the side of her face and hope that, somehow, she was still going to come back to him.


	28. Chapter 27

It was near evening by the time Gwen, Arthur and Lancelot found their way to the blackthorn grove, the dilapidated shack and Merlin's horse, looking hungry and unattended, not far off. Gwen was made anxious by the cheerless surroundings and had to suppress an urge to rush forward calling her friend's name. Arthur must have suspected she had something like that in mind, because he gave her a quelling look, then signaled to Lancelot while simultaneously dismounting and taking hold of the bridle of Gwen's horse. Lancelot circled his horse around and began approaching the hut from a long angle.

Still holding their horses, Arthur gave a piercing three-toned whistle.

"Does that mean something?" Gwen murmured, to have something to say.

He glanced up at her. "It means 'are you in there'. But since Merlin's probably forgotten everything I ever taught him he'll no doubt think it means hide behind the door and stab whoever comes in without waiting to see who it is. Which is why _I'm_ going first." He reached up to help her down, catching her easily (and unnecessarily, since Gwen considered herself quite capable of dismounting properly, even if her legs were a bit shaky from the day's ride) in one arm. He felt warm and comfortingly solid. For a moment she rested against his chest, in the grip of his arm.

"Are you all right?"

Self-consciously she focused on his shoulder. "Just tired—and worried," she said, surprising herself with her honesty.

"Well, we made it this far...Stay here while I go in." He released her, handed over the horses and drew his sword. But he had only taken a few steps towards the hut when Merlin appeared in its tumbling-down doorway.

He came further out, to meet them. Gwen felt her stomach sink, words of greeting dying on her lips when she saw how troubled he looked; eyes haunted, hair mussed, face pale. Even Arthur seemed momentarily taken aback. "Merlin...Where's Morgana?"

Merlin gazed at them both for a few moments, without speaking. Then he took a long breath as if tasting the day's air for the first time and gestured with his head back towards the hut.

"What's happened?" Arthur asked grimly.

"She won't—" He swallowed, the words sounding stuck in his throat.

"Merlin, please tell us," Gwen implored, touching his shoulder. The look in his eyes frightened her. She made to move past him but he caught her hand. "Gwen, no, don't go in, not yet."

"What has _happened?_" Arthur repeated, in his most imperial manner.

"I don't know. She's been hurt...by someone—I don't even know how much." His voice broke and they could only both stare at him while the words sank in.

There was motion in the trees beyond; abruptly Merlin whirled, and Gwen realized he had noticed Lancelot, who was coming around from the side. Merlin's hand shot out and Gwen knew something bad was going to happen...her mind flooded with Arthur's words, something sarcastic about _the __next great sorcerer to come out of Camelot_, which was—he had magic, he didn't realize Lancelot was with them...

"Merlin _no_!" She grabbed his arm within the same second. A tremor like a dancing thread of power ran from him into her, but his arm dropped.

"That is Lancelot, he's our friend," Gwen murmured in urgent relief.

Merlin let out the breath he seemed to have been holding all this time. "I almost—"

"You almost what?" Arthur demanded in belligerent bemusement.

Gwen had only enough time to think, _oh please don't badger him, we have more than enough to deal with_, before Merlin gave Arthur a deliberate glance and then splayed his fingers in the direction of a harmless tree stump a few paces from where Lancelot hesitated. The stump exploded into a magnificent whirlwind of flame, culminating in a shower of sparks that leaped across the surrounding undergrowth like tiny maddened demons.

Merlin looked back at Arthur.

"I almost did _that_," he said, "to his head."

Arthur stared at the space where the stump had been, temporarily rendered wordless. And they were all quiet for a few moments until Lancelot stepped forward and said, "Pleased to be still in possession of it."

That seemed to snap Arthur back to the present. He gestured for Lancelot to join them and said, squinting at Merlin, "There were other tracks. Someone should go after them."

"I would have gone myself, but I couldn't leave her." Merlin sounded calmer and more like his own self now, to Gwen's relief; perhaps the explosion of a moment ago had been an act of catharsis.

"Well, you're a terrible tracker," Arthur said, "although—it would seem—you have...other skills. I should go."

Lancelot looked from one to the other. (He was so eager to help, Gwen thought, knowing he was about to offer; it made her heart hurt how unselfish he was.)

"Let me, sire."

"Let me explain first," Arthur said, after a considering pause, "what's to be done."

Lancelot straightened attentively.

"The lady Morgana who was my father's ward—like my own sister," he jerked his head in the direction of the hut—"there within, has been assaulted."

Merlin visibly flinched, and Gwen tucked her hand in his, not knowing what to say.

"That she was banished from Camelot changes nothing. Those responsible will be caught and be brought back to answer." Arthur spoke with implacable steel. Gwen couldn't help feeling a slight chill by the pronouncement, uncertain what it entailed.

"It would be an honor to avenge the lady Morgana," was Lancelot's calm response. "As you command, my lord."

They watched as he retrieved his horse and vaulted into the saddle. Arthur left Gwen and Merlin and strode over to the prospective knight, saying a few words in an undertone before Lancelot acknowledged them with a bow of his head and made a quick departure.

"We should see her, Merlin," Gwen said, as gently as she could, squeezing his hand. Despite all that had passed between her and Morgana, despite the way they'd parted, she felt a responsibility towards her. Simply by virtue of them both being women, was there not a natural kinship that ill will alone could not destroy? And her soul ached, as it ached for Merlin's sake, for whatever Morgana had endured thus far.

He nodded with a slightly defeated air, his eyes on his boots and not looking at all like the warlock they now knew him to be. Hands still linked, Gwen and Merlin started back to the hovel and Arthur, after a moment, came up on Merlin's other side and clapped an arm over his shoulders, and the three of them walked that way until they had to separate to go within the confines of the fire-lit hut.

* * *

><p>Later, Arthur realized it was up to him to provide some sustenance for the three of them. Four, if they were going to be able to get Morgana to eat in her current state of non-responsiveness, which he doubted. Merlin seemed to be subsisting on nothing at all, and Guinevere said they had eaten the last of the bread that morning. So he went hunting and returned before long with a pair of rabbits.<p>

He'd been having second thoughts about his decision to let Lancelot go, and it had been some help to be able to focus on a concrete task. Moreover, his initial resistance to leaving the others undefended was overcome when Guinevere reminded him about Merlin's magic.

Oh, yes, Merlin's magic. He wasn't sure how he'd forgotten _that._ It was going to take some time to get used to the idea of his erstwhile, maladroit servant being a powerful sorcerer. In fact Arthur wasn't sure there was enough time in the world. He would have been just as likely to believe that his horse would stand up on two legs and start discussing possible trade routes to the far kingdoms. He would have to have words with Merlin some time about why he had kept it a secret (he hated the idea that he'd been lied to, even if just by omission) but perhaps not right now, when the lad was so clearly upset over the business with Morgana. Understandably. Arthur was upset as well, although he felt a more general sense of outrage, since it seemed as much an attack on the kingdom of Camelot as it did upon the individual that she was, and that would not be brooked. Merlin was taking it more personally.

Well, who knew what Morgana had come to mean to him. As far as he knew they'd been together since the time of the banishment. In fact he'd even told Merlin to look after her. It would be hypocritical for him to decide they needed to keep their distance now, Arthur mused, especially considering...

...the way he felt about Guinevere.

If Merlin was in love with Morgana, he himself was no better than Merlin because he didn't know what he'd do if this had happened to Guinevere.

Lose his mind. And then remove the heads from the bodies of the men responsible.

Arthur became aware that the meat was beginning to scorch. Upon return from hunting he'd constructed a quick cookfire outdoors, so as not to disturb the others keeping vigil within the hut. He used the toe of his boot to scatter the logs a bit, dispersing some of the flame, then stood back. He was fairly famished, having forgone the breakfast offered by Hunith, and it was growing dark now.

He glanced over to see Merlin exit the shelter. "Gwen told me to go eat something," he said, sounding weary.

"Good." Arthur crouched, speared one of the nicer portions of meat on his dagger and extended it.

Merlin hesitated. "I don't really...want any."

"Eat!" Arthur waved the offering at him. "If I kicked you you'd fall over. You look about a step away from fainting like a girl."

Merlin capitulated, sitting cross-legged on the ground and taking the food from the knife, holding it gingerly between thumbs and forefingers and muttering a thanks. Arthur extracted the burned section of meat from the spit and set teeth into it. For a few moments they ate in relatively companionable silence. Then Merlin said, "I was surprised to see you."

"You're sorry I came?"

"No. Just thought—you would have a hard time getting away from the castle, I suppose."

"They can manage without me for a few days," Arthur said with studied unconcern.

"I wouldn't want to cause trouble between you and the king."

"Merlin. It's fine." The truth was, Uther would be furious with him for disappearing and only sending word by way of Leon, but that was something to be dealt with later. "You've got enough to deal with."

There was a brief pause. "So...you were with Gwen when she got my message?"

"Not exactly," Arthur hedged. There was no particular reason he needed to hide how he felt about Guinevere from Merlin, except that it still rankled that he hadn't known about the latter's secret gift of sorcery. If not for that he might have readily admitted that he had considerably more feeling for Guinevere than he did for the average citizen of Camelot. Perhaps even have asked Merlin's advice as to how to deal with Lancelot, who (he was reluctantly realizing) was far too good to be treated badly.

He had a feeling, anyway, what Merlin would have told him. _Step away. Let it be Guinevere's choice, if she chooses either of you._

He frowned at the fire.

"I should go back," Merlin said, rising restlessly. "I'll send Gwen out."

"Right." Arthur looked up, making an effort to shake himself from the self-absorbed thoughts. "Let us know if there's any change...with Morgana."

"Of course."

"And Merlin."

"Mm."

"Try not to worry."

Merlin gave a smile that was probably meant to be wry but somehow made him look ill, and after another moment, returned to the hut.


	29. Chapter 28

Gwen joined Arthur by the fire, settling down a few feet away from him and tucking her cloak around her shoulders. During the time she had been indoors with Morgana it had gotten dark; the night was starlit and cool, like the previous evening, while the blackthorn trees made vaguely threatening, spiky shadows in the background.

"How is she?" Arthur passed what she assumed was the remaining portion of supper over, rather clumsily wrapped in a bundle of leaves.

"Thank you...the same as before. As though she's asleep. I wish there was something we could do." She ate quietly, pensively.

"It's well we came. Merlin would have starved before he left her side," Arthur said, with a brusqueness that Gwen suspected he was feigning in order to conceal any real concern.

"He cares a great deal for her." Gwen watched him as she said this, just waiting to see if he dared reply with something aggravating. _Go on, Arthur Pendragon. Something dismissive about servants, or a 'what nonsense'..._Her imagination delighted in the possibilities as she considered how she might, in turn, respond to such a reaction. But he merely agreed with a sober: "Yes."

Gwen took a moment to regroup. Though tentatively pleased, she persisted, "What do you think about that?"

"Frankly, I can't pretend such a possibility ever occurred to me." Arthur picked up a stick and began pushing escaping coals back into the confines of the rock circle. "But then again—" and a touch of bitterness crept into his voice—"I didn't know he was a sorcerer, either."

She was, for a moment, sorry for having pressed the matter. Obviously he felt some degree of personal injury, even if it was only wounded pride, for not having been aware of either of Merlin's secrets. "I did not know myself," she said, gently.

"You hid your surprise well."

The doubt in his tone offended her, and Gwen sat up straighter. "That is not fair. It was you who told me that Merlin had confessed to having magic. I simply didn't think it was as ridiculous an idea as you did." Arthur opened his mouth to speak but she continued rapidly so as to prevent him. "He may have been your manservant but he was my friend, and I've always thought there was more to him than he cared to let on. Certainly he's not a fool."

"Not an utter one perhaps," Arthur grumbled reluctantly. She remained pointedly quiet and after a few minutes he shot her a more conciliatory look. "I'm sorry, Guinevere. If you say you didn't know, I should believe you. It's just...I don't like to think you would hide something from me. Particularly since we talked about being honest with each other."

"Of course."

"Good." He gave her an endearingly crooked smile.

"Yes," Gwen confirmed. "So...where does this bring us?"

"Lancelot," Arthur said promptly.

"How does that bring us to Lancelot?" she inquired.

"You said you would be honest."

Gwen stared up at the sky with its winking stars, nervousness building in her stomach. She twisted her hands in her lap, rubbing her knuckles with her thumbs.

"Do you love him?"

Arthur spoke abruptly and she was momentarily shocked by the directness of the question, having expected something more oblique or general.

_What should I say?_ She couldn't dissemble. But telling the truth seemed as though it would put an irrevocable end to some of those secret dreams and hopes she'd had for her future. One kind of future, anyway. And Gwen wasn't naïve or impractical enough to think that one could build a future upon "someday things could be different"—which was all Arthur had given her. True, Lancelot hadn't proposed a future together either, at least not in words, but Gwen didn't doubt the devotion shown in his behavior.

It was just she didn't share that devotion.

_Honesty, then._

She pressed her lips together for a moment so hard that it hurt, and said, "No."

And then she was overcome by a wave of self-consciousness too strong to be ignored, and she quickly scrambled to her feet, moving away from the fire, from the intimacy of all of it. Of course there was nowhere to go, not unless she wanted to thrash about in the blackthorns bordering the clearing, and he caught up with her in a matter of strides anyway.

She halted, gazed outwards, strove for a sense of self-possession.

Arthur walked around her. Stopped in front, giving her a view of his chest. (Which was not unpleasant.) "At first I thought you asked Lancelot to come with you because he was a good second choice. As an escort. And that made me angry but then I thought what if—" He hesitated and cleared his throat. "You had some kind of feelings for him."

"I respect him, of course," Gwen faltered, "but I don't feel about him...how I feel for you."

This admission made her cheeks heat and she only dared give him a quick upwards glance because she had, after all, essentially just placed her heart in his hands and she had no idea what he was going to do with it. She needn't have worried about him looking mocking or arrogant. All she saw on his face was an expression of nearly reverential adoration before he leaned in to kiss her, his arms sliding around her waist to pull her close.

She gave a muffled little murmur of surprise at the moment of contact, his warmth and gentle but hungry and seeking mouth against hers. The memory of their first kiss, which had ended almost as soon as it started, flashed through her head, and she was afraid for a second that Arthur was going to set her aside as he had then, as if wondering what he had just done, but he seemed in no hurry to let her go this time. His hands lingered at her waist, then came up to cup her jaw as he asked questions with kisses and challenged insecurities with their lips meeting over and over. There was a wonderfully piercing ache in the pit of Gwen's stomach, which only heightened when he paused for a moment to whisper her name. She forgot that they were in the middle of dark nowhere, that they were supposed to be sitting by the fire a chaste distance apart. She forgot nearly everything.

For a short time.

"Arthur." She broke away reluctantly and pushed at his chest.

"Mm," he mumbled, not seeming inclined to remove his arms from around her.

"We have to..." She wasn't sure how to finish that sentence. Stop, no, that wasn't it, or perhaps it was, but...sit, they had to sit. "Let's go back to the fire."

He gave a groan of vague objection but allowed her to lead him back anyway.

Once within the semi-circle of the light the fire threw out, they eyed each other.

"Sit with me." Arthur held out his arm.

She wanted to, but could not resist observing, "That sounded like an order."

"Oh. I meant to beg," Arthur said, with such a candid lack of guile that she nearly laughed, and came to him, snuggling up against his side, closing her eyes because the ache in her stomach was telling her again that this was so _right_, regardless of tomorrow or of any other concerns.

His arm closed around her again, and she felt him wrapping the edge of his cloak around them both. "Sleep if you're tired, Guinevere," he said, into her hair. "I'll keep you safe."

"I know you will," she murmured, feeling, for the moment, quite unreservedly happy.

* * *

><p>Morgana didn't want to wake up. What was there to wake up for? Bruises. Pain. The awful memory of her most recent experiences. Here in this removed distant cocoon her mind had fled to, there was, at least, a certain degree of peace. Her mind curled upon itself, snake-like, in layers of defense. It resisted reunion with her body, as if the longer her physical self remained inert, the more time she had to wrap her mind, her soul, in protective structures. So this could never occur again, or if it did, if it had to, she at least wouldn't feel it so deeply. And yet within her there remained a powerful, inescapable desire to rejoin the world, no matter what atrocities had taken place—no matter what had yet to take place. So the two forces pulled her in different ways, one saying <em>wake, Morgana, you need nourishment, sunshine<em>—the other, _stay still, in the darkness, you are not ready. _Both intensely warning of danger either way.

She lay in limbo; a silent other-world nothingness that felt like neither life nor death. Aware of nothing that happened. Aware of everything that happened.

With an extreme effort of will, she opened her eyes.

It remained dark, and for a few moments she felt an overwhelming sense of panic when she realized her eyes weren't seeing anything. Then, slowly, shapes and shadows began to make sense. It was dark because she was in some sort of building, and the nearby fire was burning low.

She wasn't alone.

She remembered resisting. She remembered the field.

Was this some fresh place of torture?

"Morgana..."

She recognized Merlin's voice before she recognized his face.

For an instant, the sense that she should feel relief; but then the panic faded and a cold hard part of her said _he is still a man, one of them, just one of them_.

He was kneeling by her side, staring with a peculiarly anguished intensity, his cheekbones like knife edges where the fire shadowed them.

_Not to be trusted, not to be true_.

She stared back at him, perceiving the worry and confusion in his eyes, but with an analytical detachment, as if she was looking down upon both of them, not really in her own body at all.

He rested his hand lightly on hers. She said through dry and cracked lips, "Don't touch me."

"I'm sorry," he said at once, withdrawing it. "I...I'm glad you're—awake."

As there was nothing she wanted to reply to that, she remained silent.

"Will you drink?" Hesitantly, he offered a water-bag. Though Morgana felt beyond thirst, she knew she needed to comply. But she found she could only tilt her head to the side, not bring it up and forward. After a moment Merlin must have realized this. He knelt closer and put a cautious hand behind her head, easing it up while he brought the vessel to her mouth. The warm leathery water trickled down her throat. She drank only a few mouthfuls and then pressed her lips together, to keep the rising nausea at bay.

"Where are they?" she managed, after he'd let her back down.

He didn't ask for clarification, but said in a constrained voice, "We haven't found them. Yet."

"Who else...is here?"

"Gwen, and Arthur."

"Send them away."

"I can't...they're here for me, and for you."

"I don't need them." She felt her throat beginning to thicken.

"They only want to help. Please, Morgana." He wasn't even trying to hide the desperation in his voice. "I don't know what to do with you."

"Neither will they," she countered, from that part of her that felt marble-hard and unyielding, even while she felt the pinch of tears growing in her eyes.

"Let me send Gwen in—if you don't want me here for the night."

So it was night. She had lost all sense of time, unsurprisingly, and the grayness coming from the hole in the wall might just have easily meant early morning. She lacked the energy to argue further.

And if someone had to be watching her, let it be a woman. Morgana said nothing and after a few more moments Merlin rose and backed away.

It was a little while before she heard Gwen's quiet arrival and felt her presence. Gwen laid a cool, inquiring hand on her forehead, which oddly in contrast to her reaction to Merlin, Morgana didn't resent. "Is there anything I can do?" Gwen murmured.

"Enough has been done," Morgana said. She had regained that sense of distance while left to herself.

"I'm so sorry, Morgana," Gwen said.

It was sincere, she knew that, the other woman had always been a naturally sympathetic creature. But Morgana had never had any use for another's sympathy and she certainly didn't know what to do with it now.

"There's nothing to be sorry for. Merlin is sorry too. Everyone is sorry. What is next, are you going to drag Arthur in to tell me he's sorry?"

Gwen sighed. "You can talk to me however you like, only please don't be too hard on Merlin, he already feels terribly, and as for Arthur I don't think I could convince him to see you under any circumstances. He is mainly concerned with having your...captors...brought to justice."

"He would be," Morgana said, trying to shift position. Everything hurt. And then there was that deep, consuming hurt that was worse than any of it. "Arthur would do the right thing to the exclusion of all else." She distracted herself by thinking of how, though actually she had no inclination to be visited by the prince, his discomfort if forced to do so would be somewhat gratifying.

With deft hands, Gwen adjusted the material that was under her head to make it more comfortable. "Tell me if you're thirsty, or cold. I'll make you some broth in the morning." A few moments later, Morgana felt a damp cloth at her temples, sponging away the accumulated sweat, dirt and blood.

She closed her eyes, not wanting to see Gwen's gently concerned features, not wanting to see anything resembling pity. Pity was like the worst kind of curse there was.


	30. Chapter 29

"Merlin. Wake up."

Dawn light flooded his eyelids. He could feel the toe of Arthur's boot not ungently lodging itself in his shoulder blade.

Merlin hadn't fully realized how exhausted he'd been. Guiltily, he rolled over and sat up, squinting. He'd told Arthur to wake him for half of the night watch but evidently that had not happened. Somewhat apprehensively, he gazed up at the prince.

Arthur looked tired, but relatively equable. "We need breakfast. It's your turn to go find some."

"Since when do you send me hunting, I'm terrible at it," Merlin mumbled.

"Well, that was before I knew you could explode things on command. And someone has to stay behind to watch the women."

Merlin scrubbed fingers through his hair and dug the heels of his palms into his eyes, trying to clear his sleep-muddled thoughts. "Gaius was always warning me against using magic for frivolous purposes."

"There is nothing frivolous about breakfast," Arthur said firmly.

"So, you want me to go explode something."

"Well, I don't care how you do it, Merlin, I just want it ready for the fire, all right?"

Merlin thought of the many times his stomach had rebelled at the idea of Gaius' half-burned gruel in the mornings; he would have done much for a pot of it now. But even if he currently had no appetite the others still needed to eat, and perhaps he could at the same time look for some herbs to make Morgana a restorative tea.

Crawling out of his bedroll, he stood for a moment indecisive, wanting to check on Morgana before he left, yet remembering how yesterday even in the dim firelight her eyes had been so hollow, how she had said _don't touch me_. Surely she would only reject him again today.

Arthur was watching him with an expression that Merlin, once he became aware of it, realized was both knowing and vaguely pitying. "Guinevere's still with her."

He gave a noncommittal sound of acknowledgment, but remained in place for a little longer, though the morning autumn mists rose from the ground and evaporated, highlighting his awareness that it was time to move. "Arthur."

"Mm."

"Why didn't you wake me?"

Arthur gestured dismissively. "You were tired."

Merlin scuffled his feet, grateful but too self-conscious to express it just then, and set forth. Not wanting to go near the field in which he'd found Morgana, he headed in the opposite direction, approximating the trail he'd ridden in on. The horses neighed expectantly when he passed, but he felt that he needed the activity of walking.

It seemed a long while before he discovered a small lake which furnished him with both a brace of ducks and the opportunity to refill slack waterbags, but by the time the sun was overhead he had returned to the clearing. He'd gathered yarrow along the way, recalling that Gaius commonly used it in medicinal tea.

Once returned, Merlin set the tea to steeping by the fire and sent Arthur (sharpening his already well-honed swordblade and trying to stifle yawns as he did so) to get some rest. Arthur complied, wrapping himself up in his cloak and shortly becoming motionless. Merlin moved around quietly, preparing the birds for later consumption, gathering more firewood, listening for any sounds from the hut.

Before much longer Gwen came out, shading her eyes against the bright noon light. "Oh, I see you found more water. We're almost out."

Merlin brought her some. "The lake was a bit of a walk. How is she this morning?"

Gwen made a tiny face, drank and handed the waterbag back to him. "It's hard to know. I think she was awake most of the night."

"But did you...talk to her?"

"A little," Gwen evaded. "You know she has never been good at accepting help at the best of times. We will have to be patient." She looked beyond him at Arthur's cloaked form and her mouth curved betrayingly.

"You two seem to have gotten closer since the last time I saw you," Merlin remarked. "Last night, for instance." When he'd come out to see her in the shelter of Arthur's arm, with both of them gazing raptly into the firelight, it had struck him as both unexpected and completely natural. He'd pretended that nothing was out of the ordinary, not having wanted to cause either of them discomfort.

Gwen lowered her lashes in confusion now anyway. "I...we, yes, we have become close, but..."

"I was just teasing, Gwen. You don't have to explain."

"But it's not—I mean we haven't—"

He raised alarmed eyebrows at her, uncertain what she was about to admit to and Gwen gave an embarrassed laugh at the same time as if she realized his concern. "I mean, nothing is established. And how could it be? I'm hardly in a position...to be with Arthur and there is nothing that could change that."

"Rubbish," Merlin said kindly. "If Arthur cares for you, you will sort out your future together. Besides, I remember telling you a long time ago that you were meant for more than you thought."

"I remember that too," Gwen said, smiling a little. "I remember thinking you knew something you weren't telling me. And come to find out that you have this gift of magic...well, it makes sense now."

"We really haven't had a chance to talk, with things as they are," he said, sobering. "I haven't even thanked you for coming in response to my message."

"Of course. I'm only sorry I couldn't have come sooner, before all this..." Her voice trailed away.

"You know—" He pressed fingers against his temples. "When I wrote to you, it was almost as if—I hate to say this, it sounds so arrogant, but as if I knew something like this was going to happen."

"You mustn't blame yourself," Gwen said, and even though the words were a platitude she said them so sturdily that he felt comforted all the same. "Morgana will heal."

_Her body, perhaps. I'm more worried about the rest of her..._He shifted, restlessly. "I made her some tea, Gwen, that should be ready now, will you bring it in?"

"I have to wash," Gwen said, widening her eyes at him. "And do other things. Take it in yourself. We'll talk again later." She patted him on the arm, encouragingly, and stepped past.

He lingered, undecided, but she was gone, disappeared behind the bushes and Arthur was still sleeping. There was no one but him.

He poured the tea from the battered pan into one of the wooden bowls from his supplies, and murmured a few words of a healing spell over it, for efficacy. Stooping again by the storm-beaten entrance of the hut, he went in bearing the bowl, saying her name cautiously while he waited for his eyes to adjust to the dimmer light.

She was awake, and watched him as he came close.

"Yarrow tea," Merlin said.

"Leave it."

"No. I want to see you drink some."

"Don't you trust me?"

That was the old Morgana, wasn't it? Sarcasm lightened with humor and guile for flavor? He scanned her face. "I'd like to, but you make it difficult."

"Give it here then."

He put a hand behind her head to help her drink, as he'd done the day before. Morgana made a childish sound of distaste after she sipped.

"Gaius usually puts honey in. It's pretty bitter."

"It's _terrible_."

But that she was energetic enough to sound petulant made him smile. He urged her wordlessly to take a little more, and she complied. After a while he suggested, "What about something to eat?"

"Not enamored of the idea."

"All right," he said, wondering how he was going to broach the subject of them needing to return to Ealdor so she could properly recuperate. Though he didn't think she would be enamored of that idea either. "Is there anything you want?"

"To be left alone."

"Besides that...Can you try to sit up?"

"Why do I need to?" The old irritation had returned to her tone.

"Because you can't lie here forever."

"I still see no reason to leap to my feet."

"Morgana, you can't just...you have to try, you know."

"I don't know what it is that you expect from me, Merlin. Are you waiting for me to cry on your shoulder so you can comfort me and make yourself feel better? Because you will wait a long time for that."

He rubbed the back of his neck, digging his fingers into the taut muscle. "There's nothing wrong with crying," he muttered. "When you've been through something...rotten."

"You can't begin to understand what I've been through."

"I kn—"

"No _don't_ know! Stop thinking you know everything, it's so cursedly annoying."

"All right, I'm sorry. I don't know." It was hard now, this rejection, even though he'd tried to prepare himself for it, even though he didn't blame her for wanting nothing to do with anyone. It was hard, and it hurt, and it felt personal.

Silence reigned for a while. Eventually she said: "Gwen is a better nurse than you."

But this seemed to be her first offering, the first thing she had not _had_ to say, a provisional outreach, and, as such, he couldn't ignore it. "How's that?"

"She doesn't constantly talk at me, to begin with."

"Right, no talking. What else?"

"That's really all," Morgana said, after being contemplatively still for a moment.

"Because I could bring her back if you want."

"No."

"No?"

"I mean it makes no difference."

"But you said she was better."

"I said you were louder. Now I want to sleep. You sit there and be quiet."

"As my lady wishes." He meant for it to come out ironically but it ended rather mildly. Morgana gave what sounded like a small sigh of satisfaction, anyway, and shifted to her side. "Don't let the fire go out," she mumbled. "I don't like the darkness."

Turning his gaze on the embers, Merlin swept them alight, and for a moment played with the shapes so that they formed spiraling flowers with hearts of flame, a molten garden that bloomed for a short time before dying down to a normal burn.

* * *

><p>Lancelot didn't return until the following morning, alone and leading his tired horse. Arthur, though himself on edge from the forced inactivity and waiting, didn't immediately press him for details of the pursuit. He felt the timing of Lancelot's arrival fortuitous, as Guinevere and Merlin had gone for a walk (the nominal purpose of which had been to fetch more comestibles although he knew they mainly wanted to discuss Morgana.)<p>

So Lancelot, settling down by the fire, ate leftovers from their evening meal and between bites told Arthur what had happened. He had followed the trail of at least two of the knaves, who had been later found in a village tavern foolishly recounting some of their actions. Upon further inquiry, involving the point of Lancelot's sword, they implicated a third party, who had, it seemed, disappeared altogether. Another altercation led to, Lancelot claimed, his needing to defend himself at which point both men received wounds that were incompatible with life.

"You killed them," Arthur clarified, not altogether displeased. He had enough on his hands without a pair of criminals to transport back to Camelot or other random place of sentencing.

"It was not my intention, my lord, yet that is what transpired," Lancelot acknowledged.

"Hm. Well, it's a pity about the third one. If I had more men here...but I've got to get the women and Merlin back to civilization. We can't camp out here indefinitely." Arthur scanned the sky, which for the first time was clouded, signaling inclement weather on the horizon, and he had doubts about the ability of the hut roof to keep rain at bay. "You did well enough," he added, as an afterthought.

"Thank you, my lord. How does the lady Morgana?" Lancelot asked respectfully.

Arthur turned his wrist with fingers outstretched, indicating the variability of Morgana's condition. Prompted by Guinevere, he had, in fact, checked on her earlier that morning after Merlin and Guinevere left, but she had been sleeping—or at least giving every indication of so doing, and he hadn't been inclined to investigate too closely. That they had thereby avoided a potential conversation was a source of some relief to him. Though he had no ill feelings for Morgana, neither did he have any idea what to say to her.

He could hear Merlin and Guinevere coming back, probably having cut short their venture due to the rapidly massing clouds.

He came over to meet them at the edge of the clearing, but Merlin was looking past him at Lancelot. "What's he have to say for himself?"

"Go and talk to him," Arthur said. He smiled at Guinevere.

"Look," she said, with childlike enthusiasm, holding up some dark objects contained in a cloth for his inspection. "Sloefruit. They're not quite ripe but we can eat them..."

"Beautiful," he agreed, ignoring the offerings and reaching out to touch her cheek, not only because he wanted to but because he suspected Lancelot was watching, even as the other man was talking to Merlin.

Guinevere didn't shy away, though she dropped her gaze, self-consciously. "Do you want some?"

"Mm."

"Arthur. Stop that."

"What?" He was charmed by her look of defiant entreaty.

"You sound...suggestive."

"_Suggestive_," he repeated. "Well, if I can suggest something what about you and I going somewhere together..."

"We can't, it's going to rain and I want to hear Lancelot's news too." Switching her bundle to her other arm, she tugged on his. He allowed himself to be turned around, but let her go ahead, remaining a short distance away while she joined Merlin and Lancelot.

"—so we should go back to my mother's village," Merlin was saying.

"No," Arthur said, loudly enough for his voice to carry over. It was punctuated by an ominous rumble of distant thunder.

Three pairs of eyes turned on him. He liked the way everything stopped, for that moment. There was even a sense of temporary, collective breath-holding.

"Morgana needs to be somewhere safe," Merlin said, with precise enunciation.

"I agree."

"Then—"

"But we're not taking her to Ealdor."

Merlin opened his mouth and then directed his gaze at the sky.

"We're going back to Camelot," Arthur said. And he liked the sound of that, too.

_Come what may_.

The first few drops of rain began to fall, inevitably, tapping and splattering on the leaves of the blackthorn trees.


	31. Chapter 30

Once again Morgana found herself struggling to wake up, and this time it was not for lack of will, but for the fact that something was almost palpably weighting her senses. She could tell she was being conveyed, somehow, somewhere; there was constant, often jolting motion, along with the muted clop of horse hooves. She stared at the sky for a long time before realizing that it was indeed the sky, with a speckled black and orange canopy of branches and leaves arching overhead.

Tilting her neck, Morgana observed that her body was angled towards the ground, suspended in some sort of fabric sling, supported by poles or branches.

She lay still for a while longer, unwilling to attempt to free herself until she knew more about where she was going, who was with her.

It became clear shortly thereafter, at any rate. The horse that seemed to be pulling the contraption in which she found herself stopped. There were footsteps, and then Merlin peered down at her and said "You're awake," sounding relieved.

"Should I be otherwise?"

His face was so easy to read.

"You used a spell again, didn't you."

"It wasn't my idea this time. Arthur thought it would be best. How do you feel?"

"Drowsy." Pushing against the fabric, she cautiously moved her elbow up over her head. "I want to get up."

He looked hopeful but hesitated. "Get up?"

"I need to drink water," she said in irritation. _And rid myself of some as well..._

Merlin called out ahead of them—halting the others, she assumed.

"What is this thing?" Morgana made a not only inelegant but unsuccessful stab at clambering out.

"I put it together," Merlin admitted. "Let me help." He reached between the poles and hauled her to her feet with a speed neither of them was prepared for. She swayed, assaulted by dizziness, and grabbed his forearms.

"Sorry," Merlin muttered, steadying her.

_Don't you dare let me fall,_ she thought fiercely, not really certain if she was addressing him or her shaking legs. It felt terribly disorienting to be upright when she had been prone for the past few days, and the remnants of the spell were no doubt compounding the problem. She clung to him without shame.

"Easy," he said, as if she were a horse. "Here's water."

She quenched her thirst, still hanging on to him and tipping the bag over his shoulder while she drank. Then, mustering her strength for the short trek to the bushes, Morgana stepped away. Her legs bore her as far as was required for some privacy.

By the time she rejoined him, Arthur and Gwen had also ridden up. Morgana straightened, glad of the opportunity to view them standing rather than an ignominious prone position.

Arthur gave her the unsmiling nod one afforded to equals. "Morgana."

"Pendragon," she replied, because it was always good to remind yourself of who you were dealing with. "Far from home, aren't you?"

He exchanged a look with Gwen, the familiarity of which wasn't lost on her. _So Gwen hasn't been wasting her time in the castle_, she thought, mercilessly. _I was not far off the mark even then, seeing some sort of connection between them..._Ah well, that was a taunt for another time, perhaps.

She grimaced a little sourly. What with Merlin watching her with that damnable concern in his eyes and Gwen radiating affection in Arthur's direction, she wasn't much in the mood to make further pleasant small-talk. "Where are you taking me? Or is our destination to be a secret?"

"We are for Camelot." Arthur's reply was terse.

_Is he mad? The man must be mad. Or perhaps he actually wants us to die. _Morgana closed her eyes and raised her eyebrows at the same time, importuning nameless goddesses for patience. But no, they were not in a mad dream, they were all still standing (sitting, in Arthur and Gwen's cases) as if this were a completely reasonable idea.

"You seem, inexplicably, to have forgotten," she said, impressed by her conversational tone, "that we—Merlin and I—have been banished by your dear father."

"Things have changed."

"Have they? So we have been unbanished? He has extended a pardon? He is welcoming us back with open arms? Oh, but there will certainly be a party, and I have nothing to wear."

Merlin shuffled uneasily beside her. She had noticed that her sarcasm always made him nervous.

"I've no idea how the king will react," Arthur admitted (frankly, though untruthfully, Morgana thought). "But this time it is I who will take this up with him, not you, or Merlin. Neither of you are meant to face him."

Morgana murmured sweetly, "Very self-sacrificing of you."

Arthur's jaw clenched. She estimated he was only a few taunts away from proclaiming her an ungrateful brat.

"Ahem," Merlin interposed, and when she looked at him, added somewhat sheepishly: "If Arthur says he can protect us from the king's retribution I think we should take him at his word."

"Well, I do not. I believe he is making this up as he goes along." Morgana glared at Arthur. "Besides, I'm curious what you think I am meant to do at Camelot in any case?"

"You're not meant to _do_ anything. And I'm not promising you a place at the dinner table, understand. Unlike Merlin here, I don't have a magic spell for that." Arthur returned her glare. "You are going back to...recover. To be cared for."

"I am perfectly well," she said, inserting icy flint into her tone, wondering if he really intended to mention what had happened to her. When she was trying so hard to forget.

"You can barely walk," Arthur said, assessing her stance with the experienced eye of a leader. It was true, she longed for the chance to lie down again, or even for the supportive arms of Merlin. Who had the gall to reach for her now that Arthur's observation had flagged his apparently failing memory. She kind of wanted to kick him in the shins, but she permitted him to take her arm. It would be worse to faint.

"Help her back into that," Arthur ordered, gesturing peremptorily at the rig behind Merlin's long-suffering horse. "There's still a lot of ground to cover before night."

He and Gwen did her the favor of circling and going ahead again before waiting for them to comply.

"Call if you need me to stop again," Merlin said. He picked her up, cradling her effortlessly for a few moments before gently releasing her into the accommodating curve of the sling. "I'll just be leading the mare."

_I'll just be lying here_, Morgana thought with resentment, staring up at the impossibly bright autumn sky.

* * *

><p>Gwen's contentment, paradoxically, made her feel nervous. On the one hand it didn't seem to make sense to be happy right now, when things were so uncertain. Morgana was still suffering and consequently Merlin was, while Arthur was abstracted as he tried to keep charge of everything (and, no doubt, marshal his arguments for the impending return) and Lancelot...well, Gwen had no idea what Lancelot must be thinking or feeling since she had had no chance at all to talk to him.<p>

She had resolved to remedy that situation, if possible, once they made camp that first nightfall. Their location, somewhere north of Ealdor, was on a sloping ridge that afforded a view of the setting sun, the trees below falling into darkness. Lancelot had already gone to the ridge's edge to take the first watch. Morgana showed no inclination to join the rest of them around the fire, but waited while Merlin constructed her a temporary shelter out of the traveling sling, a short ways off—as far as Arthur would allow. Gwen, therefore, busied herself by the fire, tending a sort of pudding she'd made out of the last of the pitted sloefruit.

"I'm going to bring some to Lancelot," she said to Arthur, who was hauling over a fallen tree that they could feed into the fire throughout the night. He straightened, wiping his hands, and said confidently, "Go ahead, Guinevere," but added, "Don't be long, it's getting cold."

It was indeed cooling off where Lancelot crouched, unsheltered, facing the night breeze swept off the valley. The sun was falling in dramatic fashion, the horizon awash with color. Gwen stopped for a moment to admire the skies, until Lancelot glanced back at her.

"I brought you something to eat," she said, coming closer and offering the portion.

He thanked her politely and accepted it.

"May I sit with you?"

"Of course."

They watched the hues of the changing sky for a few moments.

Gwen said at last, "I'm sorry we haven't spoken in so long. To think I asked you only to accompany me to Ealdor, and look where we find ourselves."

"I have not complained," he said, with the ghost of a smile.

"I know, but I never expected things would...change so much." _Coward_, she rebuked herself. _You want him to guess what you mean without actually having to say the words_.

"You don't owe me an explanation for anything," he said, and now his smile almost made her feel worse since there seemed to be sadness mixed in with it.

"But I think that I do. I feel badly, Lancelot."

"You should not feel badly on my account. I am happy to serve—you, and Prince Arthur, as it would be my duty if I were a knight, and is my honor since I am not."

"Thank you," Gwen murmured, touched by the simplicity of his loyalty. "I—we—appreciate that."

Lancelot returned his gaze to the sunset for a short time. Then he looked back at her and said, with a purposeful finality, "I want you to be happy, Gwen. If you are, then truly, you owe me nothing."

It sounded like a blessing over her and Arthur's future, and she was too moved to say anything in reply. At last she just nodded. And after they had sat, still longer, until the sun dipped below the ridge of trees and darkness gathered from around behind them, she rose quietly and made her way back to the light of the camp fire.

Merlin kept vigil at Morgana's side, in the shadows, his face tilted away from them, not visible. Arthur was standing, poking the fire with a nonchalant attitude and yet Gwen thought she saw pleasure, or perhaps relief on his face when she joined him and ducked under his arm for a short, casual embrace. "Everything all right?" he wanted to know, looking down at her face intently.

"It's just hard to say goodbye to someone you love," she said, thinking in an abstract, fleeting way of several people: Lancelot, Elyan, her father simultaneously.

"Someone you—love," Arthur repeated, concern writing itself across his features.

"Say goodbye," she emphasized.

He looked slightly but not entirely relieved. "Wait...what? You didn't send him away, did you?"

"Like you asked me to, before?" Gwen couldn't resist the mild tease.

"It's different now."

"Yes," she agreed, "it is."

His arm tightened around her.

"For instance," she prompted.

"For instance."

"You keep repeating me."

"Sorry. I'm thinking."

Gwen felt a twinge of indignation. Surely it wasn't too much to expect he actually put something of his feelings into words now, especially since she had already done so and risked looking like a fool to boot.

"Well," she said at last, slipping out from under his arm. "Take your time. I will be here all night." Turning, she stared for a moment at Merlin's bent form. _Now _there_ is commitment, _there_ is devotion...look at the way he waits for her to move, to ask for something._

Arthur was still standing motionless by the fire, forehead knitted. "When we get back to Camelot," he said finally, "I have it in mind to tell my father about us."

Gwen's stomach promptly felt as if someone had snatched the portion of ground from underneath her feet. All she could hope was that her face didn't show the utter dismay she felt at this announcement.


	32. Chapter 31

Arthur had tried to prepare himself mentally for a number of possible receptions when they returned to Camelot. That his father was going to be irate over his extended, unexplained absence was a given; it was harder to know whether Uther's wrath would take the form of cool detachment or ill-concealed rage. Arthur felt fairly confident to handle either manifestation, used as he was to the king's temper; but the considerable amount of explaining that lay ahead of him was still rather daunting. First there was the matter of his own disappearance. Then there was the return of the two banished compatriots to be handled, and then he had decided, on top of that, to bring up the matter of Guinevere.

Perhaps, he thought, as they made their way up the darkening streets of the lower town—accompanied by Leon and a group of other knights who had met them cutting through the forest of Ascetir—it was all too much. Certainly Leon, who was casting nervous glances in Arthur's direction, seemed to be concerned over their upcoming reception; though Leon had been reluctant to discuss it, he had admitted, as they rode, that the king was not pleased.

Nevertheless, Arthur himself was at peace with the decision he'd made. If nothing else, it _felt_ right. It felt completely right, to be riding back into Camelot with Guinevere at his side, with his knights, who had (unbidden) formed a protective circle around Morgana and Merlin, riding slowly and carefully together on the remaining horse. And it was gratifying to ride up to the outer gates and have the guards part— though he hadn't worried there was any danger they wouldn't—without hesitation upon seeing their prince.

Arthur bade Leon and Lancelot accompany all three of his tired journeymates to Morgana's chambers, which, as the most capacious, seemed the most logical choice, with instructions to guard the door. Though it was admittedly a somewhat unorthodox arrangement, neither Merlin nor Morgana argued, and he told Guinevere, who was already busy lighting a fire in the deserted hearth, that he would come back to check on them as soon as possible.

She followed him to the door. "Will you have to meet with your father tonight?"

"I expect so," he said, casually, and leaned to wipe away a smudge of soot she'd gotten on her cheekbone. "I'll send some food and water up here, shall I?"

"Yes, please." Her eyes widened in anticipatory pleasure at the idea.

They both looked at Merlin and Morgana. The young sorcerer had just helped the other woman to the bed and was pulling up a coverlet around her.

Guinevere glanced back at him and Arthur could sense her wanting to say something, but constrained by the presence of Lancelot and Leon just around the door. At last she gave him a quick smile, though there was nervousness in her eyes, betraying how she was thinking about his imminent conversation with the king. He touched her hand, hoping she would absorb some of his confidence, and then strode away down the corridor.

Halfway to his own rooms, he spotted a kitchen maid and a manservant holding an animated discussion in a lighted alcove, and instead of reprimanding them as they clearly fearfully expected, he ordered them in search of the promised food, water and more firewood for both his and Morgana's quarters. The hallways were drafty and cold, his rooms dark and quiet, though made considerably more welcoming by the time the hastily procured dinner of chicken and bread was resting atop his table and a fire was crackling in the hearth.

Arthur ate leisurely but took his bath and dressed somewhat more in haste, realizing that it was getting late. Still he took care while assembling his clothing, making sure his appearance reflected someone in calm composure and full possession of all his wits. (How many times, after all, had Merlin had rushed into his rooms with some new emergency or other, looking like a half-asleep yet wild-eyed madman? While he, Arthur, flattered himself that he was a relatively tolerant person, his father would not be nearly so indulgent of such goings-on.) The castle might be collapsing around them but Uther, his crown firmly in place, would receive you in an orderly fashion in the council chambers. Growing up, Arthur had often gotten frustrated by the attention his father insisted he paid to detail, though now he had come to accept it as an unchangeable part of who the king was.

It was to the council chambers he headed now, squaring his shoulders as he pushed the doors open.

Uther had some parchments spread out on the table in front of him and was concentrating on them. Even at the slight distance Arthur could see the lines in the king's forehead. Not for the first time he was nagged by the sentiment that his father was getting old. Then Uther looked up, his gaze sharpening in the way of a warrior and a king that made his age seem immaterial.

"You have been gone for days."

Arthur inclined his head. "My absence was unavoidable, sire."

"Do explain," Uther said, with an expansive gesture.

Arthur didn't take this as a sign to relax. The other man was, as he had predicted, angry. "Perhaps, Father, you could tell me what you already know and save us some time."

"Oh, well, then. In the interests of saving time," Uther remarked sarcastically. "Sit down, Arthur."

Since it was less an invitation than a curt injunction, Arthur obeyed.

"May I remind you of an oath you swore not so very long ago? That those two whom I banished would not be found within Camelot's borders while I reign? And yet you returned with them."

"I didn't set out with that in mind," Arthur objected. "As I said, it was inevitable."

"A man who breaks his word—a knight—a _prince_!—has no honor."

He tried not to flinch under the weight of the disgusted statement. "Morgana was abducted from the village where she'd been staying and assaulted. I couldn't leave her out there."

He watched his father's face in hopes of seeing some indication of relenting, but Uther's expression remained obdurate.

"She is no longer our concern, or under our protection."

"I don't feel that way."

"You don't _feel_. Feeling has nothing to do with it! I expect you by now to _know_ what is right and act accordingly." Uther's eyes were glacial. "That girl wrote her own fate, of her own will and it was not up to you to save her."

Arthur fought an uneasy emotion kindling within him. _That girl was like a daughter to you, a sister to me. Wasn't she? Did I just imagine those years we spent together? And yet you hear of something unspeakable happening and you say...it was her fault._

He drew in a breath of air. "She didn't _deserve_ for that to happen."

"Regardless," Uther rapped out, "she doesn't have a place here any longer."

He wasn't sure what to say to that so he stared down at the deeply grooved tabletop for a while. He tried to encourage himself that he'd known this was the way the conversation was going to go. _You went over all this in your head already. You knew he was going to fume and slam his fist and maybe threaten to confine you until your next birthday or some such thing. You knew it wasn't going to be easy_.

"Arthur. Do you understand what I am saying."

"I hear you, my lord, but—"

"And you also understand that even if you break your word, I cannot be seen to break mine. People may accept many failings in a king but they do not accept inconsistency. You must learn this. Now, rather than later."

"I'm not asking you to change your judgment on them." Arthur put his elbows on the table and leaned forward, meeting the other man's gaze evenly. "I'm only asking for time."

"Time." The repeated word was skeptical.

"To begin with, I need Gaius to see Morgana. We can trust his assessment, can't we?"

"You speak very confidently, my boy." Uther had the lazy half-smile of a parent unimpressed by its offspring's antics. "As if you sure I won't say the word and have them tossed out into the night this very moment. Give me a reason I shouldn't do so."

"Because I'm _asking_ you."

"Are you begging me?"

"No," Arthur said, resenting the notion in part because Uther was looking almost amused now and that irked him—did his father think this was a game?

"Supposing I grant this favor; what will you do in return?"

"As your son and your subject, I am already at your disposal," he answered, out of reflex.

"Diplomatically spoken, and yet you vanish without permission or asking forgiveness."

He chewed on the inside of his cheek. Still, it was some relief that they were having the conversation in private. "I am sorry, Father, it was irresponsible of me."

"Yes it was," Uther agreed.

There was silence between them for a few moments. Eventually Uther observed, "I indulge you, Arthur, because you _are_ my only son and at times you remind me so much of your mother...It was difficult for me to deny her anything. But I cannot afford to indulge you indefinitely. So I will grant the request, but with it, you put yourself in my debt."

Arthur studied him, trying to read his expression for any nuance or hint of further meaning. His father's tone was final and it was clear there would be no more negotiations to be had.

"Do you agree?"

He straightened in the chair, stretching taut back muscles and feeling a vague sense of unease, but what else was there to say? "Yes, my lord."

Uther's face remained grim, but after a moment he reached out, uncharacteristically, and put a hand on his shoulder. "Now go get some sleep; it's late."

Though framed in a tone of parental concern, the dismissal was unmistakable. Arthur rose and bowed, formally, then headed towards the doors.

"Arthur."

Halting, he glanced back.

Uther stood up, pressing his fingertips against the table as he did so, giving him a rather predatory appearance. "I suspect, when you are king, you will have to learn the hard way that a leader must often make choices he personally finds distasteful."

He nodded, slowly, absorbing the parting comment, which sounded like a warning, before leaving the room.

* * *

><p>It seemed to Merlin that Morgana was sleeping nearly as soon as her body touched the bed, or if she wasn't she had become adept at deceiving him into thinking she was. He stayed with her until the food came, then he and Gwen had a hasty meal which they barely bothered to talk over—poor Gwen was fighting weariness like they all were, and shortly after that she announced her intention to withdraw behind the alcove to the bed she had occupied as Morgana's maid.<p>

Merlin had meant to visit Gaius that night yet, but wanted to ensure Morgana was not going to wake before he left. Sitting on the side of the bed, he tucked the silken coverlet around her once more, and drew a section of impossibly tangled hair that had spilled across her face, out of the way. Then he cast a spell for dreamless sleep; the night before, in the woods, she'd woken in a sweat of murmuring terror and wouldn't let him come close to comfort her. He still wasn't entirely at ease with using magic to control her in this way but it had been undeniably necessary to get her out of the hut; also it seemed important that she get as much rest now (in these familiar surroundings) as possible, for who knew what the next while would hold for them.

He leaned back against the bolster, which was velvet-soft. In fact the bed—home to an abundance of luxurious cushions and upon which Morgana's slight form took up scarcely any space— was remarkably comfortable. _I'll just rest here a little while._ He closed his eyes. _Should really go. Just a bit longer. A bed such as this is truly...deserving of appreciation._ That didn't make much sense. But it was hard to make sense when you were so tired...


	33. Chapter 32

Woodsmoke and the tang of decaying leaves blended in Merlin's nostrils for some time before the rest of his senses caught up with him. After all, he was used to the scents of the outdoors, there was nothing in that to wake him more fully; and yet, oddly, he was surrounded by unaccustomed softness. Something velvety against his cheek, a silken weight covering his legs. Yet it was the sound and feel of Morgana breathing right next to him that brought him to complete awareness.

He tried to pull his arm away from her but she shifted and he froze. _Don't wake up. It can't be morning. I can't have been here the whole night_. But it was and he had. Buttery yellow morning light was embracing them both. And he was lying on Morgana's bed, embracing her, and he was fairly sure he didn't want anyone to open the door and come upon them in such a state. Gaius, followed by the king, perhaps. He squeezed his eyes shut hoping all this was just a momentary fantasy brought on by exhaustion. No, her warm body was still underneath his arm, though turned away from him.

Gwen had already, no doubt, arisen and seen them. At least she wouldn't tell Arthur...he didn't think. Merlin tried again to free himself but Morgana gave an irritated grunt and folded herself into a ball, pulling him along with her.

He leaned uncomfortably on one elbow and let her have his other arm because he didn't know what else to do. Before long the feeling in his trapped hand began to fade. He tried experimentally to wiggle it and was rewarded by a reflexive kick of her legs shooting backwards into his shin. Almost simultaneously Morgana rolled over and glared at him under dark brows.

Merlin scrambled backwards on the bed. "Ouch."

"What are you _doing_ here?"

"I fell asleep," he said lamely.

She clawed at the coverlet, gripping it in her hands and drawing it up around herself. She was still fully clothed but the opening at her neck had fallen slightly to her shoulder, revealing a yellowing contusion that made his stomach clench just as it had when he'd first seen her face. Would he ever know the extent of her injuries? He didn't really want to. He just wanted her to be healed.

"I'm sorry," Merlin added, because she was still glaring at him.

"For falling asleep," Morgana prompted dubiously.

"No." He scratched the back of his head. "Actually that part was—good."

Her glare subsided into a thoughtful frown. "_I_ slept well. I can't remember a thing."

He couldn't quite meet her eyes, and after a moment she made a knowing sound. "You did something again."

"I wanted you to rest," he admitted.

"Funny," Morgana said, but her hands relaxed a little. "If I had known you had the power to give me dreamless sleep...back then...instead of all that trouble trying to convince you to bring me Gaius' remedy."

"I don't think I would have done it...then."

They gazed at each other for a moment. At last Morgana inquired in a wary tone, "So what is it you're sorry for, exactly?"

He waved a hand at the bed and gestured vaguely at the door. "About this, I didn't mean to—put you in a compromising position."

Morgana shrugged, elegantly despite her torn and dirty attire and mass of matted hair. "It's not as if I have any virtue left to protect."

He hated that she'd said that, so off-handedly. "Don't say such things."

"Such things?" she said, with delicate mockery.

"As if you don't care." Now it was he who gathered the ends of the perfectly soft coverlet in his hands and bunched it together. "What happens to you."

"But I don't. As I haven't for a long time. Nothing is changed."

"And I _do_. Don't you understand?" The words tumbled out of him even while something argued against doing so; a cautionary voice, perhaps his mother's, warning as it had before _this is not __the kind of girl to be gentle with a man's heart_, or just his own instinct telling him it wasn't the right time, but when was it ever going to be the right time for a servant to tell the former ward of the _king_ that he loved her? Might just as well a fool pronounce his love for a goddess, or was that Arthur's cynical voice in his head now.

She was watching him contemplatively, and he leaned forward preparing to say more—but the creak of the door sounded, and he scrambled off the bed instead, glancing defensively at Gwen, who slipped in bearing a tray.

Gwen's attitude was politely neutral as she approached. "Good morning, Merlin. Morgana."

"You're wearing one of my dresses," Morgana observed, but with indifference.

"I am. I had nothing to change into after washing. This was the plainest one I could find." Briskly, Gwen set the food on a side table. "Merlin, you'd better eat something and go. I need to help Morgana bathe, and Leon said that Gaius is looking for you."

"I'll go now." Merlin glanced at Morgana, not sure what he was hoping to see on her face, perhaps some sort of indication that they could continue their conversation later, but she was already looking away, staring into the near distance with that unreachable expression she so often wore now.

Gwen followed him to the door, making a sympathetic face. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "I didn't mean you had to leave this moment."

"No, it's all right. Gaius doesn't like to be kept waiting and I'm sure he wants to know what's going on. I'll see you later." He smiled so she should know he was not angry, though his thoughts kept circling around the words he'd been about to say to Morgana, and slipped out.

He found Camelot's physician pacing the hallway outside his chambers. "Merlin! I heard you were returned. But under what circumstances? Surely the king has not changed his mind. It is madness for you to be back without a pardon!"

Merlin quickly explained what had transpired with Morgana. Gaius looked concerned and then puzzled. "I have not yet been summoned for council either with the prince or the king."

"We only returned last night. I haven't spoken to Arthur yet either. And I still have to send word back to Ealdor to my mother. I expect I shall just have to lie low for the time being."

Gaius looked at him grimly for a moment and then pulled him close for an embrace. "It is good to see you, Merlin, despite the rest of it. I agree you should stay out of anyone's way until we know what Arthur has determined with his father. I will wait until I am bidden to see Morgana, poor child. Come. Have you eaten? You look undernourished."

Merlin tried to smile. "What's for breakfast?"

"Porridge, of course!" Gaius ushered him into his quarters.

* * *

><p>Gwen turned back to the other woman, reflecting it was strange that they should be thus in Morgana's rooms, so much like the way things used to be, herself in a position of service although Morgana no longer had the authority to order her about. And while Arthur hadn't specifically asked her to do this, she knew she had to because Morgana wouldn't tolerate any others. It was merely a continuation of the way things had been in the forest, only now they found themselves in the castle, which with its obvious conveniences was no great hardship.<p>

"Curious," Morgana remarked.

"Have some breakfast." Gwen brought her the soft bread, fresh-baked that morning and with a tempting fragrance, and sat on the edge of the bed. "What's curious?"

"Merlin. He was just about to tell me something when you came in."

Gwen made a nonchalant murmur and hoped it sounded disinterested.

Morgana took a pensive bite of the bread. "Some nonsense, I expect, about how he feels something for me. Perhaps he's confided in you? You two are friends."

"If he _had_ confided in me I would be a poor friend to turn around and discuss it with you," Gwen pointed out.

"Come now, don't act so dignified with me. I know your secrets." Morgana gave a little laugh in which there was some of her old self, though Gwen found it somewhat more chilling than reassuring.

She strove to keep her expression composed. "I can't think what you're implying."

"Can't you? Gwen, dear, as always you are too modest. Of course not all of us can be born to the nobility, but I knew from the moment we met you had a sensible head on your shoulders. I should not have allowed you near me, otherwise. I cannot bear a fool."

She would have risen but Morgana caught her hand. "It's clear to me you and Arthur have some understanding with each other. And I daresay Arthur is waiting for the moment to make it known? It's unfortunate that you two are not exactly...suited."

"You are being ridiculous," Gwen said.

"Am I?"

"These last few days have been very hard on you." Gwen stood up and went over to the windows. The lacings of the borrowed dress cut unfamiliarly into her ribcage. "Water for your bath will be here shortly."

"You would do much for Arthur, that is clear," Morgana said, a smile in her voice. "Or you would not be here, helping. I don't think you would pretend after all this time to have any affection left for _me_."

"You make it very hard to have affection for you," Gwen said, goaded into the reply though she knew she should keep her peace. "In fact I think, when you see it coming, you face it with more vigor than you would direct towards hatred. Love is not a flower to be plucked, Morgana."

"No," Morgana agreed. "It must be pulled up by its roots..."

"The truth is you enjoy being difficult."

"I will admit to having no other means of entertainment for the time being. And you, Arthur, Merlin, all of you are so serious it is impossible not to be provoking."

"Try," Gwen said, sighing. "Honestly, in the position we are in, we ought to be as accommodating as possible."

Morgana gave her a keen look. "_You_ haven't been banished."

_No, but if the king hears his son declaring intentions for a servant, I may be_. Gwen tugged at the windows, suddenly needing air. "I should think, if nothing else, you would have no room in your head for anything other than resting and getting better."

Morgana was silent and when Gwen glanced back at her she could see the other woman's eyes had grown hooded, closed-off. The silence was in a way denying, as if she had said the words:_ there is nothing wrong with me_—as she had told Arthur in the woods, though she could barely stand at the time.

_She is so proud._

"I wish you would let me know when you need help," she said, trying to sound gentle rather than prodding.

"I wish you would tell me what Merlin is thinking," Morgana replied, fiendishly prompt.

"For that I suggest you ask him yourself."

Morgana gestured in the direction of the water, in what was either shameless abuse of her current state of infirmity or an old instinctive habit that had yet to die out. Gwen hoped the latter. She brought her some and repressed an unfavorable comment.

Morgana drank and then announced, "Merlin has no more business having feelings for me than you do for Arthur."

It was clearly designed to be her most provoking statement thus far, but Gwen would not give in to an emotional reaction. Steadily she returned to her place at the window and gazed out into the sunny morning.


	34. Chapter 33

It was unexpectedly difficult to look into the keen eyes of the court physician. Resolved to be expressionless, Morgana stared into the distance while Gaius' fingers on her wrist analyzed the beat of the blood beneath.

"Your color is not very good," he observed. "How do you sleep these days?"

She shrugged, though it still hurt her shoulder to do so. Merlin had not come last night, which meant she had been left to fall asleep on her own, unaided by any magical interference, and it had proved troublesome. Lying awake till after midnight, she had finally dozed off into an uneasy rest into which the nightmares had once again intruded.

It was strange, there was no reason to expect Merlin to stay by her side now that they were back in the castle and yet she had, she had fully expected him to show up, but she hadn't seen him since he'd left the previous morning.

Whatever tonics Gaius planned to give her would be a poor substitute compared to the encompassing silence of the sleeping spells. _I will have to make Merlin teach me how to use such spells on myself._

_Then I won't need him any more_.

"Of course you always were a restless sleeper, even as a child," Gaius continued, disturbing her thoughts by answering his own question. "What of your appetite?"

"I have as much desire to eat as I do to lie here and be poked and prodded. Is this all quite necessary?"

"As I am sure you know and understand, the king requires I make a complete report of your current condition," Gaius replied, unimpressed by her regal tone. "A few vague remarks will be insufficient to satisfy him."

"Tell him I am much improved."

Gaius cocked an eyebrow, giving him the look of a lopsided imp. "Do you wish to be booted back into the wilds of the kingdom so soon?"

"At least I would be free to go where I chose. Here I am a prisoner."

"You are in these rooms to recover."

"Are there still guards outside my door?"

Gaius hesitated for only a moment. "They are there for your safety."

"Oh, I am sure of that." Morgana imbued her tone with a delicate measure of scorn.

"Tell me, child, what happened to you."

She glanced at him for an instant and regretted it, for there it was again, that cursed pity she so loathed.

"In truth," she said, lifting her chin, "I don't recall much of anything."

He looked unconvinced, but said gently, "I have paid you a long enough visit for now. We will talk again later, after you have rested." Patting her arm, he gathered his bag of medicines and prepared to leave.

She realized, as dull company as the elderly healer was, having the diversion of someone to talk with was still preferable to staring off into the distance. Gwen had gone home for the afternoon (or was trysting with Arthur, for all she knew) and, even when present now, refused to be drawn into any conversations beyond the bare minimum.

"Where is Merlin?" she fairly blurted, without taking the time to consider the question.

Gaius paused, adjusting the weight of the bag over his stooped shoulder. "Where should he be?"

_Making himself useful by attending on _me. "It's of no concern to me, of course. But if you see him, you might send him up. The rooms need sweeping," she added, inventing this excuse on the spur of the moment.

"There are any number of servants about," Gaius pointed out.

Morgana clutched a pillow in her hands and hoped it wouldn't spontaneously alight with her growing irritation. "Yes, but I want him, not one of those gossipy snickering fools."

Gaius looked mildly amused as he walked towards the door. "Very well, I shall see if I can find Merlin."

"Tell him to bring a load of firewood," Morgana called. "There is not enough here for the night."

Once he was gone, she diverted herself by pondering how she would treat the laggard sorcerer upon arrival. She imagined his face when she chastised him for leaving her alone. If he cared so much as he claimed, he would feel guilty that she had suffered through nightmares which he could have prevented. His face would be a positive _study_ of remorse. (She liked this.) And he would plead for her forgiveness and depending upon how sincere he sounded she would give it, or not.

Odd, however, because when Merlin did appear at the door with the requested armful of wood, he kicked it shut behind him, sparing no concern for her nerves, and his expression was decidedly not apologetic. She watched him as he walked to the fireplace and deposited his bundle without any particular care on the ground. He straightened. Funny how she always seemed to forget how tall he was.

Unintimidated, Morgana beckoned. Because, regardless of his attitude, if there was one thing she had learned from her time spent in Ealdor and especially over the last few days, it was that Merlin would do whatever she wanted.

He came, but slowly, and stood beside the bed—rather than meeting her eyes, gazing at a vague point in the air the way a well-trained servant did. Morgana couldn't decide if she approved of this or not. She was torn, suddenly, as to how this scene should play out. On the one hand she wanted him to resume his informal treatment of her. On the other, something about being back at Camelot made her long to be the haughty mistress of old.

It was quite vexing, having an imagined event refuse to work its way out neatly in reality.

After another moment of silence she said, "Sit."

Merlin was still for a moment, then with surprising grace considering his long legs, sat down on the rug on the floor.

"Not there, you fool." Morgana slapped the bed.

His eyes followed her hand. "I don't think that would be appropriate."

"Oh, that _is_ a proper response, when two nights ago you were sleeping next to me!"

"I apologized for that."

"So you did," Morgana answered, abruptly losing interest in the taunting. "Come."

She observed the play of muscles in his jaw as he clearly struggled with whether to comply. He really had a very expressive face, which was why it entertained her when he tried so hard not to let his feelings show.

Merlin at last obeyed, sitting on the outermost edge of the bed. She sat up, engagingly, but he recoiled, eyeing her like she was a newly sprung-to-life gargoyle.

Bits of bark and wood dust still clung to his jacket. Out of impulse Morgana reached out and brushed them off. She heard his breath catch.

"Sorry," she said flippantly, rather stung by the reaction. "I didn't mean to _offend_ you."

He said, "Is there anything else you need me to do?"

The coolness of his tone acted on her powerfully, eliciting an even colder response. Though she considered it her right to reduce his status to mere servant-hood whenever she felt him too close, it was galling to have him pre-empt her.

"You might start a fire," she said. Indeed the air around them seemed to have grown arctic, though that was perhaps more the influence of their moods than its actual temperature.

He looked at the hearth, and with a flash of his eyes, ignited one. And glanced back at her.

The use of magic struck her as impertinent rather than efficient. She returned his gaze, frostily.

"If there's nothing else," he said then, rising.

_I hate you_, she thought. She didn't, of course. It was mere frustration, anger that she'd allowed herself to become vulnerable with him and now here he was choosing to withdraw. When that was her prerogative, it had always been her prerogative.

"Go!" she said, although he was going anyway.

Merlin paused by the door, as if to speak. For a second his expression revealed his true self— concern, empathy—and she knew that he would, of course, stay if she could bring herself to ask him.

But she couldn't, and so he went.

* * *

><p>In the two days since they had returned to Camelot, Arthur had hardly a chance to see Guinevere for more than a few moments. Since he did not want anyone to take particular notice of them before he apprised his father of their relationship, it followed that they had to be apart much of the time, but it still seemed unfair. He appreciated discipline but chafed at artificial restrictions. He wanted things to be clear. Open. He wanted to be able to catch Guinevere in the hallway before he rode out in the mornings and kiss her without caring who was there to see it. He wanted much more than that, of course, (and for some of the things he wanted to do to her, privacy would be essential!) but it seemed like a good place to start.<p>

Surprisingly it had been Merlin who had given him the good idea to invite Guinevere for a quiet dinner in his apartments, and offered to stand watch outside the door so they might not be disturbed. At first Arthur had been alert for any sign of mockery contained within the suggestion but Merlin was well-meaning, he realized, and sincerely wanted to help. And why would he not, he was Guinevere's purported friend after all and should only want what was best for her?

So it was planned, and Arthur was just heading off the practice fields, ready for a bath and anticipating the night ahead, when Uther caught up with him and informed him he wanted his company over dinner.

There was no help for it but to find Guinevere and put off their intended encounter. He found her outside the kitchens bringing in buckets of apples from the orchards with some of the other maidservants.

"You shouldn't be doing that," he said, pulling her aside.

Guinevere dusted her hands on her apron and smiled. "I think you forget I'm used to hard work. And Morgana wanted to sleep, so I said I would help them out here for a while...But I thought I was going to see you tonight?"

Her smile faded as he didn't answer right away.

"I'm sorry," Arthur said, grimacing. "I have to dine with my father."

"Oh...Well, of course." Guinevere nodded understandingly but she was unable to hide the disappointment on her face, or possibly she wasn't really trying. He reached out for her, since the others had returned to the kitchen and they were alone in the hall.

"Tomorrow," he said. "I promise."

"Perhaps you shouldn't."

He searched her eyes, not liking the doubt in them. "What does that mean?"

"Perhaps we should not make plans...since...they are liable to change on the whim of the king." She avoided his gaze now, and then added defiantly, "He may ask for you tomorrow too, after all."

"It's only this once." Arthur wanted to pull her into a reassuring embrace but more than the public location, there was a reticence in her now that prevented him from doing so. He thought to say he was sorry again but balked at seeming excessively humble, and when this wasn't even his fault. At last he gave her hand a casual kiss and dropped it.

Guinevere looked surprised but not quite mollified. Perhaps it had been a little _too_ casual. He gave an internal sigh. Truly, trying to determine the precise way to calibrate one's intentions and actions towards a woman was far more exhausting than any battle.

He left her there, but with a backwards glance to admire the rustic picture she made, scooping up the basket of apples to rest against her hip. In the late afternoon sunlight sweeping through the open-air windows of the hall, and even with a slight frown on her face, she was beautiful.

Considerably later, Arthur was sitting down to a meal with the king. It was difficult not to be somewhat on edge, even after he was supplied with and had nearly finished off a large goblet of wine. He was tempted to drink more, but it seemed imprudent. Better to have his wits about him until he knew what Uther wanted to talk about.

His father kept to trivial subjects for most of the dinner, however, remarking on such things as the abundance of autumn food and their recent acquisition of some fine new horses in the stables. It wasn't until the end of the meal when Arthur was wondering if he couldn't now safely excuse himself without appearing unduly hasty or rude, that Uther dispensed with the lighter conversation and demanded, "How is Morgana?"

Since Arthur hadn't yet seen Morgana since he had left her in Merlin and Guinevere's care—though he had meant to, he had been putting the visit off—he wasn't sure how best to answer this question. Still, he didn't want to lie.

"I believe she is doing well," he said cautiously, but lest this prompt Uther to put a firm limit on the amount of time remaining to them, added, "It hasn't been very long since we returned."

"Considering how strongly you advocated for her sake one would think you would take a greater interest in her recovery," Uther said sardonically, understanding by Arthur's answer that he had not, in fact, actually visited her yet.

Arthur took a heartening gulp of his remaining wine. "True, I should have seen her by now, but I have been busy." _I haven't had the time to spend with Guinevere either, thanks to you._ He tried to suppress any resentment from showing up in his expression.

"You neglected your duties for days," Uther pointed out. "It would be strange if you weren't busy, with all that catching up to do. Which reminds me. We will be hosting some important guests within the fortnight, possibly even sooner. Before they arrive, there is an element of riffraff in the lower town which needs to be addressed; take some men in tomorrow and deal with it. Then there is burning in the fields bordering the road in, and peasants to be moved from various locations, and then the..."

Arthur struggled to pay attention because all he was hearing was a list of things that could be competently dealt with by any number of people, his own knights among them. He tightened his mouth and heard his own words, instead, circling in his head. _As your son and your subject, I am at your disposal. As your son and your subject, I am at your disposal._

He waited until Uther had stopped talking and then asked, as evenly as he could, "Who are we expecting?"

"Some time has passed since I invited King Bayard and his daughter Elaina for a visit. They have sent word they are intending to come. I expect you to be attentive to the girl," Uther warned. "If memory serves, the last time they visited, you were quite unsocial."

Arthur couldn't help it; he rolled his eyes. "That must have been ten years ago."

"I'm sure it wasn't that long," Uther said. "But if it was, all the more reason for us to be gracious and impressive hosts."

"I'll take my leave of you, sire, unless there is anything else." Arthur rose from the table.

"That is all." Uther inclined his head and Arthur turned to go. "Ah. Yes. I meant to say that Gaius has already made a full report of Morgana's condition."

He swung, warily. "And...?"

"It appears she should not leave Camelot quite as soon as I would prefer," Uther conceded.

It was a small victory, but Arthur's frustration was mounting and he couldn't keep his counsel, as something occurred to him. "If you've already spoken with Gaius, why did you ask me how she was?"

Uther lifted his goblet, took a long swallow and put it down before answering. "I wanted to see if you would lie to me, of course."


	35. Chapter 34

_A/N: Apologies for the lateness in posting this chapter. It's been a difficult month. I hope to get back on track._

* * *

><p>Merlin was assembling bundles of herbs for early drying, in the quarters he had formerly shared with Gaius. Alone and lost in thought, he didn't notice Gwen right away when she poked her head around the door. When he did see her, he started and dropped the lavender stalks he'd been tying together.<p>

"Sorry," Gwen said. "I didn't mean to sneak up."

"It's all right." He crouched to collect the fallen herbs.

She approached, pausing by the worktable and picking up a bundle to sniff delicately at their released scent. "Are you very busy?"

"Only with what you see." Merlin gestured around them. He'd amassed a considerable quantity of various plants that needed to be hung before they could be crushed and added to liquid to make medicinal tonics. The activity was far preferable to cleaning out the leech tank or polishing Arthur's armor as he had had to do in the past. "Did you need anything?"

"Mm. We're running out of tea; it's all Morgana will take, she eats almost nothing."

He tried to maintain a careless expression. "There is chamomile, over there."

Gwen examined the yellow flowers he pointed her to, and began selecting some. "You haven't been by lately."

"I was, yesterday afternoon, but you weren't in."

"Oh. Well, we've missed you."

He laughed but not quite as lightheartedly as he wanted to. "Speak for yourself, Gwen."

"You don't expect Morgana to say that she misses you, do you?" Gwen tossed a withered stalk across the table at him.

"I just...I don't know if I can do this any more."

Her eyebrows drew together, mirroring his serious face, waiting for him to elaborate.

"I know she's been through a lot, but it feels as if she truly despises me sometimes. Or that I don't matter any more to her than I did when she was still the king's ward." He wondered if this sounded whiny or pathetic.

His friend's gaze was understanding, however. Gwen came around the table and sat down on the bench beside him. "Maybe Morgana really needs more time. After all, it has only been a season since then, though so much has happened...and more to her than any of us."

"You think I'm being too demanding of her?"

"No, but—I know that for me, if I remind myself that Arthur doesn't owe me anything, it can be easier." She looked away when she said this.

He peered intently at her. "How was your dinner last night?"

"I ate alone," Gwen said, summoning up a smile. "The king asked for him, at the last moment. And I haven't seen him today, though he said I would..."

"I'm sure Arthur's not trying to avoid you."

"Well, I would rather not think that, either, but that is what I mean about having expectations." Gwen gathered some of the lavender and began twisting it into bunches.

Merlin put a hand over hers, stilling the motion of them because there was something agitated about the way she was doing it. "You don't need to be working all the time, you know."

He was surprised to see her eyes were glistening. "I would rather be busy than not. I am not sure what else I am meant to do? Sit in my cottage and wait for Arthur to call when he can find the time? I have Morgana to tend to for the moment, but she will not be here indefinitely and where will she go when she is recovered?"

"I don't know," he said, feeling a pang of concern at the thought of Morgana leaving Camelot on her own again. "You're worrying about too many things at once, Gwen. Arthur is mad about you; he's just busy right now. And as for Morgana—"

_I would never give up on her, I would never leave her if I thought she needed me. _He couldn't say that, though it was not something Gwen would mock him for. But when moments ago he'd stated his own doubts, he was averse to now proclaiming his loyalty, it would have sounded hypocritical. Perhaps it _was_ hypocritical.

He pressed fingers against his temples in an attempt to alleviate the headache building between his eyes.

"We'll make things work somehow," he said at last.

"Will you come to see her tonight, Merlin?"

"Has she asked for me?" he said, knowing the answer. Torturing himself a little by asking anyway.

"No," Gwen confirmed.

"See, I need her to ask for me."

"Merlin, this is not going to work if both of you are this stubborn."

"It's not about that. She wants me to know what she wants without saying it. And I could, you know? I can actually read her mind if she would let me. But she won't let me, not since she called for me and I failed her. Do you understand, Gwen? Morgana needed me and I didn't get there in time. And it's like she's punishing me and that's all right, I can take that, only I can't let her send me in opposite directions." He said it all in less than two breaths.

Gwen let the air settle on his words before saying, gently, "She sleeps very ill, Merlin. If you won't come, at least let me have something stronger to give her for the nights."

"I don't want to drug her," he muttered.

"Of course not, but is it any different from casting a spell?"

Fundamentally it wasn't and he couldn't argue. "There is valeriana...Don't make it too strong until you see how she responds."

In her apron Gwen gathered some of the herb he indicated. "I'll be careful. And thank you."

He waved her to the door.

"Come when you can," she appealed.

Merlin nodded. It was all he could do for the moment.

* * *

><p><em>You told Merlin that Arthur didn't owe you anything, and yet here you are<em>, Gwen thought, fidgeting in the hallways not far from the prince's quarters later that night. Perhaps she should be following her own counsel to be patient, and yet, their situations were different: for one thing, Arthur wasn't trying to push her away, at least she didn't think he was. It was merely that circumstances were conspiring to keep them temporarily out of each other's path. Gwen had no doubt that, once Uther was aware of any interest on Arthur's part for her, that a lot more than mere chance would be involved in keeping them apart. Arthur needed to be made to see that.

Which was why, she reminded herself as she still hesitated, circling back, she was here to talk to him.

That and the fact that he'd promised they would see each other that day and they hadn't.

At last Gwen tapped on the door, though not very loudly, but when Arthur answered the door and saw her his face was instantly welcoming, allaying most of her concerns. "Guinevere. Come in."

She did, slipping past him, and he closed the door after her. They stood for a few moments, mutually awkward before Arthur inquired, "Everything's all right?"

"Fine," Gwen said, too quickly, before the words had scarcely left his mouth.

"We were meant to spend today together, I know."

"It doesn't matter."

"But it does." He directed her to one of the chairs pulled out by the table in the middle of the main room, and leaned against the table while she sat. "I don't want you to think that it doesn't. Things are just very...complicated at the moment."

"Complicated," Gwen echoed inquiringly.

Arthur gripped the edge of the table and stared ahead of him, not meeting her eyes. "My father has invited some guests to Camelot and is contriving all manner of preparations to keep me occupied ahead of their arrival...It means nothing, Guinevere."

_Why should guests mean anything_, she wondered, giving him a smile she hoped was reassuring even if it was faintly perplexed.

"However, until they have come and gone, and Morgana and Merlin are settled somehow, somewhere—" Arthur's voice trailed off while he put fingers to his forehead for a moment in concentration. "I can't think what to do with them," he confided, after a brief pause.

"Morgana needs her independence," Gwen said. "And yet, I don't believe she wants to be alone."

"Well, something needs to be done with them. Father won't tolerate their stay much longer, not while there's a chance word could get out they're here. If only Morgana could be counted on to stay where you put her."

"She's not one of the castle hounds, Arthur."

"Yes. Well. It is a problem. Let's talk about something else. It seems all we ever do is talk about those two."

She smiled, since it had been he who brought the subject up. "What should we talk about instead?"

"About us."

"Good, that is what I wish to talk about as well." She wondered how to phrase her thoughts. _If things are as complicated as you suggest, don't you agree that—under the circumstances—it would be better not to openly pursue this relationship_. No, he would misunderstand that. And who wouldn't? It sounded awful. Distant.

"You can say anything to me, Guinevere."

Gwen gave him a pained smile, though she had no doubt he meant it.

He came to her chair, taking her hands in his and tugging lightly until she stood, then he put his arms around her, folding her in a pensive embrace.

"Have you spoken to the king? About you and me." She turned her head up to scan his face, hoping that their physical proximity would do something to alleviate the bluntness of the question.

"I haven't," Arthur said slowly, "but I mean to."

"I wish you wouldn't. Not...not yet."

"Why? As long as I don't, we have to sneak about like this. I don't like hiding. I want things to be settled."

She touched his stubborn jawline. "But with all that is going on. You said yourself it is complicated. Wait until your father's guests have left, until you've decided what's to be done with Morgana."

Arthur's mouth softened a little as he looked at her. "Perhaps you're right," he said, after a short silence. "If it's important to you, I'll wait to tell him."

"Thank you." She had not thought he would give in so easily and wondered if it was not evidence he had been doubting the decision on his own. Expectantly, she tipped her face up for a kiss, for some reason anticipating a dutiful and chaste peck as a tidy finish to their interview (it was, after all, quite late) but Arthur seemed in no hurry to conclude the kiss and even less inclined to bid her goodnight. Surprised, Gwen relaxed into him, giving in to the unexpected abandon of the moment. For wasn't it the first chance in their newfound relationship they had had to be truly alone?

She wrapped her arms around his neck, feeling his arms tighten around her waist in response. For a few dizzying moments they were lost to each other, before Gwen became aware that it might be possible to become _too_ lost and she should probably exhibit some maidenly self-control. She stared, fascinated by the uncommonly dark blue of his eyes, as they both paused for a breath.

"I'll walk you back," he said, sounding reluctant.

"It's not necessary," she objected.

"Nevertheless." He touched his forehead to hers for an instant and then pressed a last kiss upon it. Gwen tried to remember exactly how it felt, for tomorrow, for the coming hours which they couldn't spend together. And as they strolled slowly down the corridor, her hand securely in his, she relished that too, even the silence, because they didn't need to talk now, they just needed these final moments as the day came to a close.


	36. Chapter 35

Morgana stood by the door, listening for any sounds that might tell her there was someone still on the other side. After nearly two weeks of inactivity and confinement she was determined to have some freedom and fresh air. Gwen had let slip that they were entertaining someone from a neighboring kingdom and everyone had extra duties as a result, so it seemed a natural opportunity for her to attempt a venture from her rooms.

She could not hear anything, but this did not mean much as the wood was so thick. Eventually she tried the door and was rewarded by its opening at once. Morgana stepped into the hallway.

One of Arthur's own knights straightened, startled, at her appearance. She stared for a moment too, trying to remember his name. Liam or Lionel, something like that_..._She'd thought the job of watching her quarters would have been foisted upon one of the ordinary sentries by now.

He looked tired.

She could use that to her advantage, possibly.

"My lady," he said, after a moment. Morgana was pleased by this continued nod to her past title and wondered if Arthur was responsible. Uther's men would have felt no compunction to call her so after the banishment.

_Leon, that's his name._

"Can I be of assistance?" he added, before she had quite made up her mind how to proceed.

Morgana was a little sorry she had chosen that morning an unadorned tunic and practical trousers—the type of outfit she had worn for sword-fighting practice or riding out on unofficial rides—given that men were such visual creatures. Still, she sighed, tossing her braid of hair over her shoulder. "I would like some fresh air, some activity. It is dreadfully dull to be cooped up day after day. I only mean to go for a short walk."

The red-haired knight looked genuinely regretful. "I'm afraid that is not possible. The prince was very clear about his orders for you."

"Surely with everyone so busy, I could spend an hour unnoticed in one of the courtyards," Morgana cajoled, tilting her head to one side.

"I am sorry, my lady."

"Will you at least take me to the physician's chambers? I'm in need of some treatment, I couldn't sleep at all last night." This was only a slight embellishment of the truth since the valeriana Gwen was giving her was not nearly as strong as she would have preferred.

She could see Leon trying to decide if he should refuse, or perhaps volunteer to get it for her, but that would leave her unguarded and was clearly not the ideal alternative. While she waited, she contemplated pressing a hand to her head to suggest a headache, but perhaps that would be too much. She blinked ingenuously at him instead.

At last he relented, gesturing for her to come. Morgana was careful to walk slowly beside him (though she felt strong enough to stride and yearned to do so after the extended confinement.) As they went she tried to elicit some details from Leon as to Camelot's royal visitors but he was vague and noncommittal in his replies. It was a relief to run into Gaius himself not far from the old man's quarters.

"Ah, Morgana. I've been meaning to stop in to see you."

"And now I have spared you the trouble." She widened her eyes while glancing at Leon. Gaius took the hint, and stepped forwards to put a fatherly hand on her shoulder, guiding her towards his door as he told the knight, "You needn't worry, I'll return her to her chambers when we're through talking."

Morgana bestowed a reassuring smile upon Leon who didn't look entirely convinced but who eventually backed away, nodding at the physician.

Once inside, Gaius closed the door behind them. "You feel better lately, I think?" he said, surveying her with a practiced eye.

"Certainly I am well enough to be released from my bird cage," Morgana said, equal parts airily and sullenly. Despite herself her attention was caught by the odd mish-mash of objects strewn about the room. There was so much more to look at here than in her own quarters, which were free of anything to divert the eye, kept scrupulously tidy as they were by Gwen. She touched a book which lay nearby, running a finger along its dusty cover.

Gaius began to rummage through his medicine bag, murmuring something about supplies, but more as if making a mental note to himself than actually talking to her. Morgana wandered about, breathing in the scent of herbs suspended from the beams above. She stopped to gaze out the window which afforded a different view than the one from her rooms. It looked like a mild autumn afternoon.

_Perfect for riding. Or for doing anything but being indoors._

The door opened again and Merlin came in. They met each others' eyes and after a pause, he closed the door.

"What's she doing here?" he asked of Gaius.

Gaius shrugged vaguely. "You can watch her for me," he said, slinging his bag over her shoulder.

"Wait, where are you going?" Merlin swung round as his mentor headed for the doorway. Morgana lingered, absolutely still by the window, unwilling to offer any discouragement as long as there was a possibility her independence was to be prolonged.

"I have duties," Gaius said. "Patients to see, many patients to see." He hummed as he exited.

Morgana watched Merlin carefully to gauge his mood. He was staring at the wall, then closing his eyes and putting a hand on the back of his neck the way he did when he was trying to find inner tolerance. Probably it would be better to be nice than aggressive. But she wanted to let him speak first. She played with the ends of her braid.

"What are you doing here," he said eventually, rewording his unanswered question of earlier.

"I came to see you," she said, looking up boldly. Surprised by the quickness of the lie. Surprised because...it _wasn't_ a lie.

He looked surprised, too, and vulnerable for just a few seconds before he recovered. "Why would you do that?"

Morgana sighed, irritated by having to be personal. "Perhaps because you're the only person in Camelot I can bear to be around for more than a few minutes at a time."

That was as close as she was going to come to an admission of affection. She shoved the window defiantly shut.

He gave a tiny reluctant smile.

"Take me out of here," she said, sensing him weakening.

"I can't—"

"Just for a little while."

"Morgana—"

"I'll go mad, Merlin."

She said it quietly but with a passion that was unfeigned.

He put fingertips to his temples.

"You have to do what I say."

"I will," Morgana agreed promptly.

"I mean it."

"I know," she almost sang.

He held his breath for a few seconds. "Okay."

She couldn't hold back a radiant grin at the idea of leaving the castle even if only temporarily. With docility she followed him out of the rooms and down the corridor.

"Who is staying with us?" she asked, realizing that she still tended to identify with Camelot more often than not, but not especially bothered by it.

"Lord Bayard and his daughter and whatever guests they brought." Merlin halted, grabbing her hand and pulling her up short as they were about to join a larger hallway. The rumble of male voices and booted feet echoed beyond. After a few moments the sounds died and Merlin, still holding her hand, decided it was safe to proceed. But a variation of this event kept occurring and it was some time before they were able to slip unnoticed into an outer courtyard.

"Aren't you being overly cautious?" Morgana straightened, blinking with eyes unaccustomed to the lightness of the sky, even at this late hour of the day.

"You're not meant to be out of your rooms," he reminded her. "If anyone sees us, it's back there with double guards—and the stocks for me more than likely, which I would rather avoid, as fun as being pelted with rotten fruit is."

"But I might enjoy watching that."

The courtyard was partially sheltered from overhead views by a mass of vines creating a natural canopy, which would have been a profusion of bloom and greenery earlier in the season but which was brown and mostly bare now. Still it created the illusion of privacy. Morgana wandered along the length of the stone wall, idly assessing its potential for scaling. She was aware of Merlin trailing behind her, twisting overgrown vines out of the way. Aware also that he was scrutinizing her.

"What?" she asked, defensively.

He tilted his head to one side. "Do you always have to be looking for a way out?"

"Yes."

It felt strangely gratifying to be honest.

She rather thought that would silence him at least for a while but he persisted: "How are you—these days?"

"I don't sleep."

"I gave Gwen a remedy—"

"It doesn't _work_."

"Maybe it needs to be stronger."

"Maybe _you_ need to be with me at night."

He looked embarrassed. "I, er, don't know if that's a...long-term solution..."

"Then teach me the spell you were using," Morgana said, undaunted.

Merlin shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and gazed at her with an expression of mute but obvious refusal. She hadn't really expected he would acquiesce, not so soon, but that was all right, she was determined to make him give in eventually.

"We should go back," he said at length, scanning the skies.

"Not just yet," she protested. "Let's sit for a while. I want to watch the sun set."

He appeared reluctant but nevertheless let her tug him down on a stone bench which faced westward and was flanked by two massive trees. They sat, side by side, shoulder to shoulder, without speaking. Morgana took possessive hold of Merlin's arm as if to anchor him to herself and the ground. His arm was unyielding at first but after a while she felt him begin to relax, and she smiled because being outside like this was both a gift and a victory.

* * *

><p>For the past hour Arthur had been trying—unsuccessfully—to catch Guinevere's eye across the expanse of the crowded formal dining hall. It was possible she was avoiding coming too close to the main table where he and the other nobility sat, and he couldn't blame her for that; it wasn't as if, in such a public venue, they could have any kind of meaningful interaction in any case.<p>

The hall was crowded, filled with the inevitable noise of a large number of guests simultaneously eating and communicating. To his right were Uther and Lord Bayard. Though they were conducting a polite conversation, Arthur could sense his father's tension: the peace treaty between the Camelot and Mercian kingdoms was an uneasy one, uncemented by friendship or even mutual respect.

Which was why Uther had been so insistent upon Arthur being attentive to Elaina.

He cast a sideways glance at the girl currently seated to his left, sipping daintily at her goblet of mead. It shouldn't have been a difficult assignment. She was pretty enough, fair-skinned and blue-eyed, and had responded with polite gravity to each of his attempts at conversation although she had not volunteered anything of her own accord. He wondered if there was nothing she was interested in, or possibly it was just that the lass would as much rather be somewhere else as he.

He sensed Uther's watchful gaze on his other side. Mindful of the debt he owed his parent, he summoned up a smile and addressed Bayard's daughter. "Perhaps, if the weather permits, you would like to ride out and see some of Camelot with me tomorrow, Lady Elaina."

"Thank you, that would be lovely," she replied without inflection.

Arthur wanted to tell her she didn't have to go if she didn't want to. But there was no way to say such without sounding like he was retracting the offer. He used his knife to push food around on his plate, looking up for Guinevere again once Uther's attention had drifted away from him, but she had disappeared.

Maybe it would rain.

With a heroic effort he dismissed the unchivalrous thought and applied himself to his dinner, despite his lack of appetite.


	37. Chapter 36

The cold of night seeped up from the ground and into the stone bench. Merlin tipped his neck back and stared at the black sky, wondering why they hadn't gone back into the castle long ago. But he knew the answer was that he would rather freeze out here with Morgana sleeping against him than be by the warmest fire, the softest bed. He edged his arms out of his jacket one at a time, carefully shifting her head to his lap as he did so, then spread the article of clothing over her, tucking it round most of her body.

_I ought to wake her up so we can sneak back in_, he thought ruefully. But he didn't move, except to bring his hand near her face so he could feel the warm puffs of steady breathing. He hadn't needed to use magic to produce this; she had simply fallen asleep on his shoulder by the time the sun had gone down.

It was flattering. In a strange way. Then again, perhaps his ability to get a girl to sleep was not one to boast about. He had just been happy to see her smile again. And the possessive way she'd held his arm, maybe that was only to keep him off guard, but he had liked that, too.

"Merlin." Arthur's voice, on edge, sounded out of the darkness. "What are you doing out here? Is Morgana with you?"

"She's sleeping."

"We have beds for that." Arthur's form took shape as he appeared carrying a low-burning torch. He sounded resigned rather than angry which Merlin took to mean they weren't in any trouble. "At least you had the sense to stay near the castle, I suppose." He held the torch out so that the light cast over Morgana's body. "Is that _comfortable_?"

"Not so much for me," Merlin admitted.

"Leon shouldn't have let you two go." Arthur had an expression of reluctant forbearance for a moment before he added sharply, "No one saw you?"

Merlin shook his head. "I took care that they didn't." He squinted up at the other young man. "I haven't seen you lately. You must be busy with your guests?"

"My father's guests, you mean." Arthur sheathed the sword he was holding in his other hand and stared at the ground. "I'm taking Bayard's daughter riding in the morning."

"She seems lovely," Merlin offered. "I mean, from what I could see. On the other side of the hall."

Arthur grunted. "I'm sure she _is_ lovely, but she's not—"

"Gwen?" Merlin finished helpfully.

"Shut up."

"Because we can talk about that if you want."

"I don't want to talk to you about Guinevere, _Merlin_," Arthur said in something approaching a shout.

Morgana stirred and murmured in irritation. Merlin stroked her head reassuringly and stared, unintimidated, at the prince. "Really? Because it seems like you might."

"Well I don't," Arthur retorted, but somewhat more quietly, as he stalked around, waving the torch so that sparks flew off it in all directions. Then he spun back and glared at Merlin. "It must be nice to be one of the simple folk."

"I wouldn't say there was that much that was nice about it," Merlin reflected. "Work. Bad food. _No_ food. Leaky roof, bossy masters..."

"But there's nothing to worry about. No responsibilities. No wedding together of kingdoms." Arthur fell abruptly silent and turned away again.

Merlin stared at his shadowy profile. "You think you might have to _marry_ this girl?"

"Well, it was always going to be that way, wasn't it? If not her, then someone else. And I understood that. Anything for the good of Camelot. Only now—"

"You're in love with Gwen," Merlin said into the silence.

"What difference does love make," Arthur said, but his voice was tight with confirming emotion.

"Quite a bit," Merlin said slowly, gazing down at Morgana for a moment, whose face was still pressed trustingly into his leg. "Rather a lot."

"Nevertheless."

A few moments of silence followed Arthur's grim statement.

Merlin strove for something comforting to say. "Well, perhaps you're worrying too early. The king may not even be thinking of such a thing."

"Perhaps not, except as his son I happen to know he is generally two steps ahead of the rest of us," was the slightly bitter response. "Look, Merlin, I'm tired. He's been keeping me at his side, I've been entertaining these people and talking about the _weather_ while my knights are getting lazy guarding Morgana and sitting about the armory half the day no doubt, which reminds me—"

Well accustomed to this type of rant, Merlin waited patiently for him to collect his thoughts.

"Morgana," Arthur said, pointing at her with the torch. "I need you to be ready to take her away from here. At any moment, you understand? If things get..."

"Crazy," Merlin supplied. He knew it irked Arthur when he finished his sentences.

"Crazy," Arthur agreed, frowning, which he could see even in the darkness. "I can't have Father using you two as hostages."

"What about Gwen?"

"_I _will worry about Guinevere. You can look after Morgana...can't you?"

His tone was serious, not sarcastic and yet there remained a hint of doubt as if it was a request.

_I always try._

_She doesn't always let me._

He wasn't sure what Arthur would make of such observations. At last he said: "I'll be ready."

"Good." Arthur stepped past the bench, the light sweeping a new set of shadows about. "Thank you," he added, as an afterthought. "And Merlin. Have her back inside before daybreak."

"Of course, sire." He was purposely a touch droll.

Morgana slept peacefully on as the light faded in the prince's wake.

* * *

><p>Arthur's wish for rain was not granted. It was just another morning in an unbroken stretch of mornings each as pleasant as the one before. Nor was the lady Elaina indisposed. She was waiting for him in the main courtyard, perched atop her ride with an expression as serene and sunny as the skies. A groom was holding their horses but no one else was around, though he looked about.<p>

"Good morning...You, ah, aren't bringing an escort?"

She blinked at him. "I assumed you would be able to keep me safe, my lord."

This seemed innocent rather than flirtatious. For which he was thankful. "Of course," he returned gallantly. He swung up into the saddle, but couldn't help glancing up at Morgana's windows where several times before he had had occasion to see Guinevere looking down on the courtyard below. She was not there now. Foolish to be thinking of it. And he didn't particularly want Guinevere to witness him and this girl riding out together anyway, since he had not asked her for any reason other than a sense of duty.

Arthur rubbed the bridge of his nose with a gloved hand. Too much thinking and little purposeful activity was making his head ache.

"Are you well, my lord?" Elaina leaned forward with polite interest.

"Quite...Shall we be on our way?"

The horses' hooves clattered across the courtyard stones.

Hours later, Arthur was standing alone in front of his father, who had insisted upon knowing all the details of their ride, even though there was nothing to tell. They had been gone for most of the morning and in the process had covered plenty of the countryside around Camelot. Elaina had been a capable horsewoman as one would expect of a king's daughter and they had exchanged half-a-dozen pleasantries over the duration of the outing.

"And that's all," Uther prompted, with the predatory gleam in his eye Arthur had noticed he usually got when sentence was about to be passed on a criminal.

Arthur held his hands out, palms up. "I'm sorry if you find my report to be lacking, Father, but it was an uneventful journey. Would you rather we had been ambushed by the riffraff you had me run out of town?"

"I would rather you told me you had made good use of your time with her."

Arthur widened his eyes. "I'm not sure I want to know what you mean by that."

His father chuckled. "Naturally, I mean have you done what I asked?"

"You said—" He tried to recall the exact wording his father had used before the arrival of their guests. "To be attentive. Which I have been."

"Good. Well, I hope it's enough."

"Enough for _what_?"

"Come, my boy, you know as well as I do that their kingdom is an important ally. A union between you and the girl would go a long way towards establishing a peaceful future for all of us."

"You can't be serious." He felt a tightness in his chest. Though he'd already speculated that such a sentiment was coming, to hear it spoken aloud was another thing entirely.

Uther raised an eyebrow. "Are you suggesting there is something distasteful about the lady Elaina?"

"No," he muttered.

"Then you have something against the notion of marriage in general?"

"No." Should he have said yes? Was he being cowardly? Was this not the moment to announce that he had no intention of marrying anyone who wasn't Guinevere? And yet he had promised her not to reveal such a thing.

"Perhaps you think you are too young," Uther remarked, nodding understandingly. "It takes time to learn the duties of a husband, just as it takes time to learn the duties of a king. The engagement could be a longer one—"

"It's not...that." Arthur cut him off. "I don't know how to explain it to you. I just...I don't think this is right."

"Be that as it may. I have placed a higher value on my judgement than yours in this matter." His father's voice hardened again. "Our guests will be leaving shortly. Bayard and I have reached an agreement on a number of matters, your and Elaina's future engagement being one of them. There is no need for you to speak to the lady on this subject, unless you are prepared to counterfeit some semblance of enthusiasm."

"I hardly think I could feel _enthusiasm_ over the idea of marrying a woman I don't love."

Uther waved a hand as if batting away a fly. "Love is irrelevant."

"Is that what you told my mother?"

"Don't bring your mother into this."

Arthur knew he was treading into perilous territory. They almost never talked about Ygraine; it seemed too painful a subject for his father to bear. But, driven by the injustice, he persisted, "Why not? If you weren't prepared to sacrifice your happiness for the good of the kingdom, why should I?"

"You have no idea," Uther said, regarding him thoughtfully, "what you're talking about."

"Then I'll say good night, sire." He executed a perfunctory bow and strode towards the exit, praying he wouldn't be called back because he didn't think he could keep his temper much longer.

Uther let him go, with the parting shot of "Remember your promise," before he made it through the doors.

* * *

><p>Morgana awoke to see Merlin dozing in a chair pulled up to her bedside, his eyes closed against the light slanting through the window. She vaguely recalled having fallen asleep outside, but there was no memory of the return journey back to her rooms. For some reason this didn't alarm her. She watched Merlin for a little while. The belief that no man was worthy of her trust had only deepened since the attack on her person in the forest, yet she knew, looking at him, that he was exempt from this suspicion.<p>

If that made her foolish, so be it.

"Morning," she said, stretching.

His eyes snapped open, then he gripped handfuls of hair as if to wake himself up. "Already?"

"Did you carry me all the way back?" she said, mildly impressed.

"Yes but...I almost dropped you once," he admitted.

"Well, I didn't wake up, so I suppose you're forgiven."

He returned her smile tentatively. After a brief pause he asked, "Do you want me to fetch some breakfast?"

"Gwen will be by with it shortly," Morgana answered. _Though I never eat any._ She didn't have much of an appetite in the mornings in any case and with Gwen hovering around watching every bite she took or didn't take, it was preferable to skip over it.

"Right. Er...I should probably..." He glanced at the door.

"Stay and have some with me. I imagine it's better than whatever you usually have."

"Burnt porridge."

"There you are."

He was fidgeting. Oh curses, perhaps he thought she was ordering him instead of asking.

"I mean, you don't have to if you don't want," she added, a bit stiffly.

"No, I do. Thanks."

She was conscious of a sense of familiarity between them but didn't mind it. In fact she rather approved. It was very tiring to be perpetually on one's guard. Morgana relaxed back against the pillows and wondered how Gwen would react to see them partaking companionably of breakfast together. Of course she might not react at all, given that half of a servant's job was to remain imperturbable to any odd manifestations of a superior's quirks.

Still.


	38. Chapter 37

_Note: I am ending the story here. This final chapter is so ridiculously overdue, I sincerely apologize. It was hard to finish, but I felt it was owed, whether or not I felt inspired. Thanks for reading and following._

* * *

><p>Gwen turned the fabric over in her fingers, her thoughts having taken her away from the task of assisting a few of the maids with their endless piles of mending. She smiled absently now and again at their chatter, which tended towards harmless castle gossip, but did not take part in the conversations, preferring to work quietly. A stray comment caught her attention as she worked the needle through the piece of muslin, and she paused, leaning towards the girl nearest her. "What was that about the prince just now?" she murmured.<p>

"They say he's engaged," the girl replied, not bothering to lift her eyes from her work, for which Gwen was grateful. It was the sting of the needle that brought her back to her senses, causing her to realize she had stabbed herself, a novice's mistake she hadn't made in years. For a moment she brought her hand to her mouth, pressing it to her lips, partially to allay the brief pain but also to cover her dismay at the words she'd just heard.

_They say he's engaged._

Gwen tried to make sense out of it. Only a few days had passed since Camelot's noble guests, the lord Bayard and his lady daughter, had left. Was it she—Elaina? She had seen Arthur and the lady exchange a few words at dinner; Arthur hadn't seemed particularly infatuated (though of course that didn't mean anything) and she knew they had gone out riding together, that was no secret, even Morgana had mentioned it to her, with a touch of malice, perhaps in hopes of some reaction. Gwen hadn't reacted—then—it had seemed a silly thing to be upset over. Arthur was a prince; princes passed their time with noblewomen. None of this had the power to upset her.

But if it were true, and he had not said anything to her, not even a word of warning, that was...

Well, it was unbearable.

Gwen bent her head over her work and concentrated on the stitches, making them far more perfect than they needed to be for common mending, perfect enough to please Morgana's discerning eye of months ago. But all her concentration couldn't erase the memory of the word: _engaged._

She should have known this moment was coming. She should have prepared herself better. Hadn't she been living in a fool's dream this autumn, living on moments that didn't belong to her, making memories that weren't hers to hold on to?

_Stupid, Gwen_, she chastised herself, but with each stitch she drew through the fabric, the knot in her stomach tightened.

* * *

><p>Over dinner one night, Uther commented casually, "I'm told you are much in the company of that serving girl."<p>

"She's not a serving girl," Arthur answered, out of instinct rather than thought.

"You don't deny it, then?"

He put down his goblet. Here it was. He had wanted to tell his father about Guinevere for some time in any case, and she had asked him to wait, but there would be no more waiting. "No. I don't."

Uther took a sip from his own drink and regarded him with genial interest. "Don't you find that inappropriate, considering your intended bride?"

"Guinevere is not inappropriate."

"I speak not of the girl herself but of her station. She's hardly a prince's consort."

"I don't care about her station." Arthur was consciously trying to mirror his father's even tone and conversational manner, but Uther's prejudices always managed to kindle his anger. "I care only for her."

"You aren't trying to have me believe she _means_ something to you?"

"She means everything to me."

This admission was met with silence for a few moments. Then his father said, "I can only assume that this...declaration of passion is due to your not yet having lain with the girl?"

The question, or perhaps observation, was so direct and without lechery that it was hard to take offense, yet Arthur was unable to think what kind of an answer to give. He avoided the other man's piercing gaze.

Uther leaned forward. "Let me be clear. Bed her if you must, but wed her you will not."

Arthur found his voice, though it came out strangled. "Even if we thought that an acceptable conclusion, how can you propose...What if a child was to result?"

Uther waved a hand in a dismissive fashion. "Unlikely, particularly if you managed to satisfy your curiosity with a single encounter...but beyond that, such things are commonplace enough. The only heir you need concern yourself with is the one from your wife, _who—will—be—_" he punctuated his words by meaningful pauses—"of noble birth."

"Father." Arthur prayed he could stay in possession of his temper long enough to get through to the king; making it more difficult was the growing realization that his sire's principles were foundationally unsound. It was deeply disturbing to see him in such a different light. "I have always believed you brought me up to be a man of honor."

"You chose dishonor when you chose to associate with a servant from the lower town."

"I do not accept that!" It was almost a shout. He reined himself back in. "You will not speak of Guinevere in that manner. She is the woman I love. And will marry," he added, unsure whether the supplement was purely defiance or a statement to himself that he needed to hear vocalized.

"Then you will lose your kingdom," Uther said, with eyes like flint. "If the Mercian alliance displeases you so much then find another, it matters little to me, though you are a fool not to see its tactical advantage; but marry the wench and you will not inherit."

"Enough." Arthur stood up, congratulating himself on having managed to sound calm again. "You must do as you will. So must I."

He went then to look for Guinevere, anticipating finding her in Morgana's chambers, but it was Merlin who answered, looking rather guilty.

"What are you doing here? Never mind. I don't care. Where is Guinevere?"

"At her father's old place I think. She's been going there at nights."

"Since when?" Arthur stared at him.

"Not long," Merlin dissembled.

Arthur paced in a circle out of frustration for a moment, then looked back at him. "Remember when I told you to be ready? That time has come." Leaving Merlin standing in the open doorway, Arthur hurried onwards to the lower town.

It was late, although not unreasonably so, and he was intensely relieved when he heard Guinevere's cautious answer to his quiet call outside the cottage door. She let him in out of the darkness, the light of the small hearthfire and a candle burning on the table making the room seem bright by comparison.

Looking around, he recalled the last time he had been here. It had been pouring rain and they had had their first kiss. Perhaps she was remembering it as well, because for a moment they both stood awkwardly before Gwen moved away and pretended to arrange a stack of bowls at the table.

"Why didn't you tell me you were back here?" He tried, but it was hard not to sound accusing.

"I haven't been neglecting my duties," she said, looking down. "Merlin has been looking after Morgana at nights and I just..."

"That's not what I mean, you know that's not what I mean." He came to her and tried to take her hands. She let him, but she still wouldn't look up. "I have to know—where you are. If I don't know where you are I worry."

She was silent for a moment and then said, "I would have thought you would be too busy to worry."

He wasn't sure what to say to that.

She glanced up at him very briefly. "Why did you come here tonight?"

"I needed to see you. I need to talk to you." Arthur ran his hands along her forearms. For some reason that was a mistake because she pulled away, putting a few feet of distance between them.

She said, "I'm not sure that is appropriate."

Her phrasing, so unfortunately similar to his father's way of describing her, and fresh in his mind, made him angry. "We have spent many hours alone, night-time hours among them, and if I've ever given you reason to feel shame—or regret—in those times..."

"No. I meant only—"

"Only what?"

"Considering your intended."

"My _intended_—curses, Guinevere, I am not now nor have I ever been engaged! I was allowing my father to believe in a fantasy that I realize now I should have disillusioned him from at the very beginning!"

He took a much-needed breath. She was looking at him with big, hurt eyes. He realized he might have to slow down. If up until this moment she really had believed he was intending to marry another, his planned proposal tonight would perhaps not be well met. And yet it was imperative they understand each other; time was not on his side.

"I came here to ask you something," he said, after a few moments. "But now...I feel that I should not."

Her brow creased. "Why?"

"Because now I worry you will give the wrong answer."

She was quiet for a moment, then she said with a hint of a smile about her lips,"If you don't want my answer to be wrong, you must ask the right question."

_I am a warrior, Guinevere, I've neither the stomach nor the head for games and riddles..._but there was sense in what she said, if he was being rational.

He was _trying_ to be rational. It was difficult when all at once the future of your life was veering off in a very different direction from how you had always envisioned it.

Not bad, just different.

The right question...

The only question he could formulate. "I want to know if you would consider becoming my wife."

"Yes," Guinevere said.

The certainty of her voice gave him a jolt of emboldened hope, but he added quickly, "I ask you as myself. A man...nothing more."

"I don't see you as anything more than a man," she said, sounding confused.

For some reason he found this endearing, that she was forgetting about Camelot, about his entire heritage as a cherished son of Albion. Yet she couldn't be allowed to misapprehend the situation.

"My father is not amenable to the idea of us."

"You mean, to me."

"If he mislikes one he cannot have the other. You are part of me," Arthur said, and though it made him feel awkward to say it (too poetic, unsoldierly) it was true. He reached for her hand again and now she let him take it.

"I don't want to be the cause of trouble between you." Guinevere looked distressed.

"If there is any trouble, he has his own prejudices to blame."

"But if he does not accept us, how can we be together?"

"We must leave here."

"I couldn't ask that of you."

"It is I who asks you," he pointed out. "I believe my father will come round in time. Perhaps, not until there are children—"

"Children?" Her voice sounded strained.

"After we are properly wed, of course. And have a home of some kind."

"Naturally," she breathed.

"Unless you don't—"

"No. Yes. It is just...all of this seems very sudden."

"I thought you knew how I felt about you."

"Until tonight I believed you to be engaged."

"I would have told you if such a thing had been true. Remember, I wanted to tell my father about us before, but you advised against it."

"I didn't want you to have to give up anything for me," she said, slowly. "But—if you are determined to leave, I will go anywhere with you."

"Are you certain?" Though she'd already said yes he searched her gaze for any remnants of doubt.

"I am very sure," she said, with a little smile, and then he had to kiss her, so he did.

* * *

><p>Morgana was sitting at her window when Merlin came to find her. He'd been granted tacit and unrestricted access to her rooms for some while now, whether by order of Arthur or by virtue of being Gaius' assistant he didn't know (or much care).<p>

It was usually at nights that he came, that was when she wanted him, when his presence was more than tolerated. He knew she needed him for sleep. The arrangement was quite chaste in that respect; they would curl up together fully clothed and though it was occasionally difficult to have her sleeping sweetly against his chest when he was not in the least tired, he had to accept that was all he could have. It might be all he could ever have. He didn't know, he tried not to think too much about it.

Now he lingered by the door for a moment, watching her, though she seemed neither aware of his presence nor self-conscious if she was.

At last she looked at him obliquely, waiting for him to speak, but as usual he didn't quite know what to say.

"Arthur's leaving," he said, finally.

"Because of Gwen, I suppose."

He nodded, although that felt disloyal, somehow. Certainly it wasn't Gwen's _fault _that the situation was resolving itself in this manner. If Arthur was prepared to give up the kingdom for Guinevere and she was for her part prepared to live with the unknown future they could make together, then he had only respect for both of them.

"So what about you?"

He came closer. "I must go where he goes."

"I suppose you must," she said with faint sarcasm.

"Only he's charged me with—" How to phrase it in a way that wouldn't anger her. _Keeping you safe? Looking after you?_

"If there's anywhere than locked in these rooms I would less rather be," she said, meditatively, "it would be tagging along after that lovesick pair as they parade about the countryside trying to cobble together some kind of sad existence."

"Don't you think," he said, keeping his voice gentle, "they would be happy?"

"I suppose," she allowed, "as fools are."

"We could go our own way," he said. "You and I."

"I think we tried that already."

"I think only one of us actually tried."

She accorded him that with a tilt of her head. "I did warn you. I'm sure I did. I was never going to be that girl you could bring home to your mother."

"Well," he said, feeling a little weary. "This time you decide where we go."

"_We_," Morgana emphasized. "Is it..._us_...now?"

"It's been us for a while," he said boldly, leaning against the stone wall and folding his arms across his chest.

"Really."

"Since you decided you can't sleep without me."

She made a sound of irritation.

He raised his eyebrows and said nothing, waiting.

After some time she said: "I need to be able to breathe. I won't have you hanging about me all the time."

"As you wish it," he said, now consciously speaking more lightly. "I'll not look for you until the sun sets. I'll not so much as let my eye fall upon you in the daylight hours."

She gave a small unwilling smile. "But I'm serious," she said, and her voice, though candid, was wary.

"I know."

She didn't break her gaze from his. "I don't want to be burdened...with anything."

"I know that," he said again, careful of the trust she was giving to him in that moment, aware of the warning that he was not to have any expectations.

"So." The line of her neck seemed to soften a little, the shoulder that was angled toward him lowered. "Do we leave tonight?"

"The morning is soon enough. You need rest and I still have preparations."

"It's not late," she said. "Sit with me. My hands are cold."

"Come away from the window," he said, half-laughing at her. "At least by the fire if you don't want to sleep yet."

He held out a hand, and when she took it, he wrapped his warm fingers around her chilled ones and led her gently to the light of the crackling fire.


End file.
